The Wolf of Cyrodiil
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: Sharah the Wolf has traveled Cyrodiil making a name for herself. But for all she's done, there are greater things in store. Destiny will wind her into every facet of her world, before placing its fate squarely on her shoulders. *LucienXOC-gradually*(this is an Oblivion walkthrough, each quest line will be included, rated for violence & future sexual themes) (NOW ACCEPTING OC's)
1. Enter the Wolf

**Here's my first fanfiction post. It's an Oblivion game runthrough...sort of. Tweeks to the the storylines, props to David Brasher at Oblivion Nexus for his Fighters Guild mod (lots of perspective there), and plenty of props to the wonderful writers of Elder Scrolls fanfiction for their inspiration. **

**And thanks to Bethesda for this fantastic game. They own it, not me. I only own my OC. So...let's get started.**

_Fire and smoke; screaming that echoed in emptiness. She tried to run. Tried to reach them. The dark clung to her like thick mud, dragging at her steps, holding her back. Her home and family burned and she was left straining, unable to move, unable to reach them. She opened her mouth to scream and the bottom dropped out of the world, sending her plummeting into the black_.

A leg spasm brought her awake with a jerk and Sharah snatched instinctively for a hilt on her waist. Panic ensued when she grasped at empty air. She choked it down on instinct. Her heart was pounding and she gasped at the air, unable to take a deep enough breath to calm her terrorized mind. As the nightmare faded she lay back down and curled tight. Just a dream. Just an old dream. One she hadn't had in a long time. But the emotions it dug up were as raw as the day she'd come back to the smoldering wreck that had broken her life apart. Sharah buried her face in her pillow, just breathing until the pounding in her chest lessened.

The comfort of the guildhall was a blessing after waking up from that. Sharah tucked the blanket beneath her chin and looked across the floor at the other beds on the second level. In the early morning light she could see that most of them were occupied. Her sudden rousing hadn't been loud enough to wake them. Most hadn't been here when she'd gone to sleep. Probably down at the Gray Mare having their customary drinks. It explained the louder than usual snoring. Sharah managed a smile knowing it was their guild armorer, Sabine Laul, who was the loudest, and not the big Orc sprawled out on the next bed down, who looked only a bit less grumpy when he was asleep with his toothy maw open.

Sharah melted into the mattress for a few seconds longer. But there was no getting back to sleep after that nightmare. She kicked off the blanket and reached for her boots. She'd woken up in this guildhall before. Spent plenty of time in every Fighters guildhall in Cyrodiil. But waking up today felt different. Maybe it was because of her latest assignment, the one Modryn Oreyn had given her yesterday. The one he'd sent summons out to every guildhall in order to be sure she received it. Sharah grinned as she tightened the laces. Four years in the guild, and she never thought the second in command would single her out to work directly under him. Sharah'd get flack for it when her guildmates woke up and caught wind. They'd call her Oreyn's assistant. It sounded demeaning but the description was probably accurate. But he said the work was important, so how could she say 'no'.

It wasn't until after her boots were on that Sharah's brain finally caught the call for wakefulness. She needed to change pants. Which meant she had to pull off the boots again. Considering all her guildmates were still asleep, Sharah chanced changing there at the foot of her bed. And being small as she was, Sharah could crouch and just about disappear behind her trunk if she had to. Becoming practically invisible was a skill she'd picked up during her…adventures. Pants, breast band, shirt, boots. Most of which had needed to be fitted and hemmed before Sharah could wear them regularly. Short and hippy. Not an appreciated combination. Well, her mother might have called it petite and shapely. But Sharah was a mercenary in the Fighters Guild. Those qualities didn't add much when it came to battle. But at least Sharah could compensate with her speed and agility.

In the hall's bathing room she washed her face and pulled a comb through her bed ravaged hair, yanking out the night's knots. The process gave Sharah a chance to see herself in the mirror. She took after her mother, an Imperial from somewhere unimportant. Although there were some of her father's Redguard heritage present as well. It was difficult for Sharah not to see her deceased parents in her reflection this morning. And her brother for that matter. They'd both had the same eyes cloudy green eyes and dirty blonde hair. Sharah's mother wouldn't have particularly approved of the tan on Sharah's naturally fair skin. Or the battle scars that were scattered across her body. But life as an adventurer tended to do that, and it had been Sharah's calling no matter her parents' opinions.

Too often her mother had said that if she'd just cleaned herself up a bit more, worn a dress and some makeup then she could be among the prettiest girls in town. Sharah snorted and splashed water up upon her face, scrubbing vigorously. She was in shape because she traveled and battled. Her skin was mostly unmarked because she preferred to avoid open combat through use of stealth. And her hair, however soft and thick, could do as it liked so long as it didn't get in her eyes. Speaking of which, it was getting a bit long, an inch or so off her shoulders. Perhaps it was time to hack it back to an unobtrusive length.

No matter the hints her mother had dropped, no matter her father's hesitance toward Sharah taking up the sword, Sharah had wanted her own adventure. She'd craved it. Been inspired by the stories of her father's youth. And so everything had to be practical and useful, all in preparation for when she struck out on her own. Sharah paused, staring once again at the face in the mirror. But then…that craving had been the cause of her misfortune. A fact brought back into the light by that dream…

Sharah shook the lingering memories away and went back to her bed. She finished things by strapping a shortsword of blue glass to her hip and lashing a second, black, almost crystalline longsword to her back. Most would think one or the other would be enough. They didn't know what that longsword was. And Sharah wasn't trusting it out of her sight for any reason. Not yet. Otherwise garbed for the day, she finished by fastening a leather strap bearing her Fighters Guild patch to its familiar place around her bicep. Today the patch was that of a guild Protector: a single bare arm wielding a sword. Oreyn's new assignment for her included a promotion. She'd worn the symbol of her membership almost religiously since the moment she joined up. It represented a large part of her life and the physical symbol of her belonging was worth more than she could say.

Outside, the morning air was crisp and clean. The sun hadn't yet risen to chase away the thin haze that coiled about the houses and the great oak tree that stood in the plaza before her. Sharah stood on the porch of the hall and breathed deep, casting the last of the nightmare away. Her guildmates wouldn't be up for another hour yet, so she had some time to herself. Perhaps she should wander the town, get her bearings properly. Especially if she was to be based here more permanently.

The guard must have just changed because Sharah didn't see any late night yawns breaking their faces. Good of the Captain to schedule the change before most of the populous hit the streets. Street lamps were just getting doused and Sharah heard the early birds take to the sky from the forest beyond the walls. Chorrol really was a beautiful city. Sharah was glad it was the first one she landed in after making it to Cyrodiil from Hammerfell. Nice, charming, peaceful. If she'd dropped into Leyawiin first, Sharah probably would have bolted for Skyrim or Morrowind first chance she got. Well, as long as she was stuck serving in a single city, it might as well be in Chorrol.

Guards bid her a good morning when they passed while Sharah skirted the buildings to walk the length of the city walls. The thing what worried her about this new assignment wasn't that she'd be assigned to complete the more difficult contracts that came up. Nor that she'd be trusted to handle guild matters that the local leaders couldn't manage, and with Oreyn's authority. It was that she wouldn't have the same freedom she was used to. The freedom to leave when she wanted, travel where she wanted, go where she wanted.

Her entire time in Cyrodiil had been based around that freedom. The 'itch', her father called it. Azzan in Anvil had called it the Raga Urge. But whatever it was, she had it bad. A common affliction among Redguards, it drove them to travel and adventure and seek out the new and unexpected. And it didn't go away until they found what they were out looking for…whatever that was. Azzan's itch went away when he was assigned to oversee the Anvil Fighters Guild chapter. Sharah's father's itch vanished when he met her mother. Her itch…it didn't seem to be going anywhere any time soon. Sharah just hoped it wouldn't start chafing her here in Chorrol.

Oreyn said she'd be answering to him. That she'd have to clear all departures from the city with him, just in case something came up and she was needed immediately. Even a day strolling in the woods would have to get his approval. So, itch or no, she was stuck in Chorrol. Better get used to it, like a good soldier. Damn, she hoped a contract came up soon. The walls were already starting to look enclosing.

Sharah skirted the Chapel of Stendarr, passing through the graveyard and back out to the street just as a familiar face came out of the chapel doors. "Guilbert, good morning," she called.

The man started at her voice, as surprised as she was to see someone else out this early. And when he saw who, a slight blush rose to his cheeks, "Sharah, uh…good morning."

Sharah motioned to the bottle in his hands, "Something from the priests?"

Guilbert Jemane glanced down at what he held, "Oh, for my brother. Reynald went…a little overboard last night."

Sharah smiled, "Still?"

Guilbert began to wring the bottle's neck nervously, "Well…yes. But he is improving."

Sharah smiled, "Good. I'm glad. He's lucky to have you to look out for him."

The Jemane family had been torn apart when the twins were very young. Their parents had borne them away from danger, each to a different city, with each believing the other two to have perished. The two brothers were all that remained of their family now. One of Sharah's first good deeds in Cyrodiil had led to their being reunited. Guilbert had traveled all the way from Cheydinhal, uprooting the life he'd made, in order to find his brother again. Reynald had grown up alone and turned into the town drunk of Chorrol. Guilbert's presence kept him somewhat out of trouble at least.

Guilbert cleared his throat, "So…how long are you in town?"

Sharah shrugged, "Indefinitely. I have a new assignment, so it looks like I'll be based here for a while. You'll be seeing me around more often I think."

The Imperial looked almost hopeful, "Really? Well, I'll…look forward to that." He glanced down at the bottle again, "I should get this to Reynald. Perhaps, we'll talk later?"

Sharah nodded with a smile, "Certainly. Good day to you." Guilbert at once tried to nod and bow, finally hurrying off toward home, casting the occasional glance back at her. Sharah waved after him, a little worried about his nervousness. Hopefully he wasn't that way around his clients. Nervous merchants didn't get far.

She turned to stroll down the road toward the shops. Nothing would be open yet today, but on the other side of the district was the Gray Mare. Emfrid, the proprietor, might have something cooking by this hour. And it would be a lot better than anything Sharah's guildmates would put together this morning.

Past the shops and the city statue, Sharah found the building she was looking for. The Gray Mare was…not pretty on the outside. It was the cheapest place in town, in fact. But it was also the best place to drink socially and it was run by a woman with the biggest heart Sharah had ever met. Emfrid was awake when Sharah walked in the door. There was still evidence of last night's festivities. Sharah suspected the chair with the missing leg had been Kurz's, but she wouldn't speculate. "Morning, Emfrid," Sharah said.

The Nord woman behind the counter smiled broadly when she saw the speaker, "Sharah! You _are_ back. It's so good to see you again." Sharah was still taken aback by Emfrid's friendliness toward her. She'd been immensely kind when Sharah had first stumbled in here four years ago, meek as a field mouse, utterly on her own and with no idea of what came next in her life. Emfrid had taken it on herself to be Sharah's first friend in Cyrodiil. It did more good than Sharah could really say. And even after absences spanning months, Emfrid still acted like they saw each other every day. Emfrid came around the counter and, after a heartfelt embrace, ushered Sharah into a stool at the bar, "I'm so glad you're back. Can I get you something to eat? Or drink? I heard you were back in town, but you didn't come by. I knew it was only a matter of time, though."

Sharah sat down and prepared to succumb to the woman's ministerings, "I'm sorry about that. I went straight to the guildhall and by the time Oreyn was done with my interview, it was late enough I just went to bed."

Emfrid poured Sharah a cup of milk and put a hot bowl of cereal in front of her, "Oh, was it anything serious?"

Sharah shook her head, "No. I…think I've been promoted. I'm working directly under Oreyn now."

"That's wonderful!" Emfrid exclaimed.

Sharah nodded, "Yeah. He said I'd be sent on the tough contracts around Cyrodiil, and I'd be handling some guild matters when local leaders weren't enough. But it means I can't just go where I want anymore. I'll be staying here in Chorrol until he gives me my tasks, and then back here after."

Emfrid paused and looked suddenly thoughtful, "Really? Do you know when?"

"When I'll get my first job from him? Not really. It'll depend on how the guild's doing and what kind of contracts we're getting. I'll just have to get used to being in one place. But at least you'll see me here more often."

"Hm, well maybe it will give you a chance to lay down some roots. Get…more than acquainted with some people," Emfrid said, with a little smile. Sharah wasn't sure she wanted to have this conversation with the woman.

"Have you already seen to Bittneld today?"

Emfrid blushed, and touched a fresh morning glory that was tucked into her hair, "Yes. He was in early. He's such a poet. He told me 'the sun doesn't brighten the sky like my smile'. Oh! He said it better." Sharah shoved another spoon of cereal into her mouth to stop herself from grinning. Bittneld the Cursebringer, fearsome Captain of the Chorrol guard, turned poet for the Gray Mare's Emfrid.

Sharah vied for another subject, "And I hope my guildmates didn't cause too much trouble last night."

Emfrid glanced over at the broken chair, "Nothing a little wood sap and binding can't fix. I have to thank you again."

"For what?"

"For talking to Bittneld for me. It was very sweet of you. I would never have had the courage myself."

Sharah put on the face of pure innocence, "I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

Emfrid nudged her, "Fine, keep your secrets. But Bittneld and I both know who to thank for bringing us together."

Sharah turned her face to her breakfast to hide the tell-tale expression. She didn't ask for recognition for the things she did. She just did them for no other reason than that no one else would, or could. Recognition just seemed to follow. And not just favors for people she knew, but anyone who asked. Such willingness might be considered a flaw, but she had her reasons. And remembering how many people Sharah's helped over the years, she figured it was always worth it.

The recognition, on the other hand, she could do without all together. Although Sharah could hardly avoid it. After a while, if you do enough, people learn your name and remember it even when you come back months after the fact. She couldn't even avoid the name she'd been given during all her wanderings. Sharah the Wolf. Stupid nickname. Something her guildmates doubtless came up with. Although by the time she first heard it, the name had spread too far for her to snuff it out, or even track it to the source.

Sharah the Wolf. Not what she would have chosen but it was better than some. One of her guildmates in Anvil was called Sten the Ugly. He told her he'd just gotten tired of beating people up for calling him that. And he had more reason to fight his name than her. So, for all that she hardly felt like a wolf in any way, she was stuck with the name.

Sharah got back to the guildhall after the sun had risen. Sabine and Lashana were nursing pounding heads in the dining room when she arrived. Sharah grinned, "Did you all have fun last night?"

Lashana glared at her, "Not so loud, Wolf! Ow." Sharah grimaced at the name. Cargas was steaming some natural remedy on the stove. She really was a natural healer and didn't take to drinking as much as the others.

Cargas asked, "So, out wandering the countryside?"

Sharah replied, walking over to the table, "No, just a walk."

Lashana grinned despite her pain, "Ooo, the walking Wolf. Scary." The Redguard knew how resistant Sharah had been to the name and felt the need to tease her every chance she got. Sharah took it in stride after a while. But this time she came up behind the woman and let out as wolfish a howl as she could manage right in her ear. Lashana and Sabine winced and wrapped their hands about their ears with groans, which set Sharah off cackling.

Cargas glared at her, "Be nice. And if you won't, at least go get me some Somalius Frond. I'm nearly out." Sharah acquiesced and left her guildmates to their headaches.

Back in the plaza Sharah realized she'd have to go outside the city to gather the frond. It was plentiful in the local wilderness, but Oreyn had expressly forbid her from leaving the city without his say so. Sharah groaned. She wouldn't be leaving the city for long but she wasn't about to disobey a direct order. In the Fighters Guild, that was an unwritten rule: don't tick off the guild second…ever. The mer was tough and everybody knew it. But he hadn't been in the guildhall. The only other place she could figure to find him was at his house. But she didn't know where that was.

After asking a few locals and a couple of guards, Sharah was directed to Oreyn's home. And when she first saw it, Sharah was brought up short. It was…small. Very small. Sharah owned a pathetic one room shack on the Waterfront, the poorest district in any city she'd ever been, and Oreyn's house was only twice that size…maybe. He was the second in command of the Fighters Guild which spanned all of Cyrodiil. What was he doing living here? Vilena Donton, the current head of the guild, lived in a small mansion that was about the same size as the entire guildhall. And all Oreyn got was an oversized shack? How did that make any sense?

Sharah swallowed and knocked on the door. Maybe he was just a humble man. Not everyone needed a huge house. Sharah grinned. So said the girl who owned the largest manor in Anvil.

The door swung open and Sharah immediately blushed when Modryn Oreyn answered the door in nothing but a pair of pants. Oh, damn. She should have waited in the hall.

Standing at 6 foot something, Oreyn was an imposing figure. His lean build was none the less muscular and strong, which meant it would probably hurt when he started training her. His normally jutting dark mohawk was drooping somewhat from whatever he'd been doing. His blue gray skin was indicative of most Dunmer, or Dark Elves as they were commonly known. It was hard to tell his age, not only because she had yet to figure out the relative age and aging differences between men and mer, but because the creases of his face were made more numerous by the harsh experiences of his life. He also possessed the red eyes which most found unsettling when focused upon them. It didn't help that Oreyn settled his on Sharah with a scowl which, though almost a constant expression on Oreyn's face, none-the-less continued to intimidate her.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

The heat in Sharah's face intensified, "Uh, sorry, sir. I was just looking for permission to leave the city. Cargas needs more Somalius Frond and I was going to go…gather…it…"

His scowl deepened, "So what the hell are you doing at my home?"

Sharah looked at her feet, "You said I couldn't leave the city without your consent. So I came to ask. I'm sorry, sir. I am intruding. I apologize. Won't happen again. I'll just go back to the hall and wait there. Sorry, sir."

"Sharah!" he barked before she got more than three steps down the street. Sharah froze and turned back to stand at attention, focused on looking him straight in the face for fear of being caught staring at the very bare chest of her superior. Oreyn leaned against the doorframe and growled, "You came asking permission to go plant gathering?"

She nodded, "Yes, sir."

He shook his head, "When I told you to ask permission to leave the city, I meant on any lengthy excursion. Not some mile long hike."

Sharah felt the blush come back, "Oh…I…I just didn't want to disobey orders."

Oreyn sighed, "Go get the damn plant. But I want you back in the Guildhall as soon as possible. I've got an assignment for you the minute you get back."

Sharah nodded, "Yes, sir," and bolted up the street. Ok, she was never…EVER...doing that again. Sharah was excessively modest when it came to people and their clothes. It was near stupid how embarrassed she got when someone…anyone was missing even a single article of clothing. And she was never going to tell anyone she'd seen Oreyn with his shirt off. And, with any luck, she and the guild second would never speak of this again.

Out on the road she felt better. Outside city walls and such. Sharah recalled passing a cluster of the fronds every time she went by Weynon Priory. Sharah was gathering the leaves when she saw the Odiil brothers coming up the road. They spotted her about the same time and hailed her. Sharah waved back and trotted out to the road, "Morning. How's the farm?" Sharah had helped the brothers defend their farm from a marauding goblin band when she'd arrived in Chorrol for the first time. A defense that had gotten her the attention of the Fighters Guild.

Rallus Odiil hefted the pack on his shoulder, "Last harvest before the new year. And no goblins in sight."

Antus, intense as always, added, "Because they don't dare!"

Sharah grinned, "Mind if I walk back to town with you?"

Rallus shook his head, "Not at all. You still carry father's blade, I see. How is it serving?"

Sharah laid her hand on the glass shortsword's hilt, "Chillrend's been as sturdy as I could ask for."

The three of them continued chatting up until they reached the city gates. Rallus bid her farewell saying, "You're always welcome in our home. I hope you know that."

Sharah curled a lock of hair behind her ear, "Thank. But I wouldn't want to intrude."

Rallus touched her shoulder, "There's no chance of that. You carry our father's blade. You're practically family." Sharah smiled at the sentiment and made for the guildhall. She really did make a lot of friends, didn't she? Farmers, shopkeepers, guards, thieves, vampire hunters, mages. She was on a first name basis with a Countess, and had been offered a position on the guard in three separate cities. But the Fighters Guild always called her back. It was the first place she went to in any town, it was where she slept, ate, socialized. She didn't consider them family, exactly. But they were the closest thing she'd gotten since the deaths of her parents and brother.

Sharah dropped the bundle of fronds in Cargas's hands before going to find Oreyn. He was in the basement wielding his mace against the wooden dummy. Thankfully, his iron cuirass was on. The less she saw of his, or anyone's skin, the better. But even so, Sharah could see his powerful muscles swelling as he struck the dummy into a rabid dance against its chains. The display made Sharah hesitate a little out of self-consciousness. She really disliked her size. While most of her guildmates saw their muscles inflate through training and battle, her's seemed resistant to growth of any kind. Not to say she was weak. Her muscles were as hard as anyone's, but they left her small looking. Her nickname didn't help with that either. How did anyone really associate her with 'Wolf'?

She leaned against the rail to watch, not wanting to disturb the guild second during his training session. She'd never really seen the man in action before. He was fast and strong. She could see how he'd made it so far in the Fighters Guild, and how he'd lived long enough to hold the position. She took the opportunity to observe and learn from his movements. How to pivot to apply maximum damage. How to use the recoil of a blow to one's advantage. Even if she didn't use a mace, this was still educational. Sharah was so engrossed in the lesson she barely registered when his movement brought her into his vision. She did notice when he stopped and fixed his red eyes on her, which subsequently froze her on the spot. "About time," he said, "Get down here!"

Sharah darted around the rail and stood at attention on the mat, "You said you had an assignment, sir?"

"Yes, but first I want to see you with that," Oreyn jerked his head to the blade on her back.

Sharah started, "Sir?"

Oreyn scowled, "All my reports say you favor that ice enchanted shortsword. But you carry that longsword now. I want to see if you can use it before I send you out on assignment."

Sharah hesitated. This hesitation had less to do with a potential bout with Oreyn and more to do with the blade itself. It wasn't that she couldn't handle the weight and range. She'd trained with it on her own often enough. It was just…she hadn't used it on an opponent before. Or at least against an opponent she didn't want to kill. But Oreyn wasn't to be deterred, "Well?"

Sharah laid Chillrend aside and pulled the black longsword off her back. She shouldn't be doing this. She shouldn't chance something happening here with him. But how was she supposed to explain what happened with the blade. Sharah made a point to take a firm mental grip on the sword before falling into the ready position.

Oreyn lifted his mace, "Begin." At the first contact, the soul within the blade woke up. Sharah bore her mind down on it, even as she raised it to block again. The ringing of the strike sent the sword's song of consciousness into her mind. It realized it was unsheathed, it knew it was hungry, and there was a soul within reach.

The sword sang again. Sharah found herself locked in a battle on two fronts: one with the man before her, the other against the thing in her hands. The tendrils of the soul within the sword clawed at her mind, trying to take hold of her very being. Of their own accord, her arms lifted to block again and then attacked. The attack was driven by a hunger not her own, the blade dug itself into her mind, driving her to satisfy its insatiable appetite. The fight with Oreyn became background noise as she struggled with the soul. Her need and its need began to merge. The blade must be fed, and she would be the one to feed it.

The thought alone made Sharah balk. No. NO! The fire of the battle and that hunger was doused in an icy clarity. The tendrils recoiled and then sought her again. But this time she was ready for it. With the deep strength of her mind now awake and clear, Sharah took hold of the blade's soul and throttled it. The spirit screamed and battled, but she commanded that battle to go elsewhere. No longer would this sword bend its wielders to do as it wished. This time, the black crystal blade was forced to fight for the one whose hand was on the hilt. This time, the wielder would be the master. With her mind's battle won, the physical fight took center stage.

Oreyn was unaware of what had nearly occurred. Together, she and the blade struck at him. The soul had the experience of a thousand battles, but not with this wielder and not in this way. The two of them had never been to this place before and they were not ready to work as they now did. In the first attempted maneuver, the crystal blade was knocked from her hands. Sharah took an iron clad shoulder to the chest and toppled to the ground, coughing.

She didn't try to stand immediately but lay unmoving on the mats, just breathing. Suffice to say, that had been intense. She'd nearly been overwhelmed by the soul inside that blade. If she'd been taken, Sharah would have ended up another slave to its hunger for souls to feed upon. But now she knew she could command it. She'd have to be careful. She'd have to practice, now that she knew how it felt and knew what to do. But that soul would work for her, teach her to fight, and would do her bidding. And only on occasion would she allow it to feed on the souls of the defeated. But that would be her call, not its.

Oreyn was actually breathing harder than when they started, "Not bad. I'm guessing you've never used the Dreugh's Tail Strike before. Try learning something properly before using it in combat. It'll keep you alive." His stinging comment didn't faze her too much. It was good advice, and she certainly deserved berating for pulling out the sword in the first place.

Oreyn turned on his heel and strode over to retrieve her crystal blade from where it had landed. Sharah's heart leapt, "Don't touch it!" Oreyn paused and rounded on her, eyes hard. Sharah glared right back until she realized how she'd sounded. She'd sounded like Oreyn when he gave orders. She dropped her eyes, scrambled up, taking the precious seconds to bury the burst of fiery spirit and wrap back up in the comfortable layers of humility and subordinance.

She rushed over and snatched up the sword, shoving it into the sheath, "Sorry, sir. The sword is…It has a mind of its own. Better if no one else touches it." She could see he wasn't about to let that shabby explanation slide. Sharah sighed and offered him the hilt, "Put the back of your hand close. But don't actually touch it." She knew how enticing the first touch was.

Oreyn eyed her, but did as she asked. Sharah felt the blade hum to life, reaching out for a wielder who was more malleable then she. A reach that she merely allowed to happen. Oreyn's hand came within an inch of the hilt and his eyes widened as he felt the aura of the blade. Sharah locked down on the soul before its hunger could infect him, saying, "The blade is a soul stealer. It likes to take control of the one holding it. Turns them into a puppet bent entirely toward killing people and feeding the sword their souls. It's called Umbra."

XXX

"_Umbra?" Sharah asked. _

"_Yeah, that's Umbra," Barbas said, "As in, shadow, darkness. Also means being or ghost. Right on both counts, really. But more to the point, it's bad news. Really bad news." The dog shaped servant to a Daedric Prince whimpered as it edged away from the blade on the ground and the dead Bosmer woman who had been its wielder. The dog looked at her, "Umbra is actually the sword. Always was." _

_Sharah looked at the elf, "But then why was she calling herself Umbra?" _

"_The sword does bad stuff to your head. I mean, just look at her. She was one a nice little Bosmer girl. Now she's trying to kill you and steal your soul. You think that's normal?" _

_The dog, Barbas, backed toward the door, "Look, let's just go. Let it lie. You touch it and the same thing'll happen to you. Let Clavicus Vile find someone else to bring it back. You've done the hard part anyway, killing her." Sharah couldn't really bring herself to leave any job half finished. One of her faults. Against the dog's advice, she knelt down and carefully reached for the blade. She felt it hum, reaching out to take a new wielder. The moment she closed her hand around it there was a shock. She felt an undeniable hunger from the blade itself. Umbra demanding to be fed the soul of another. Sharah took a grip on the blade and fought down the urge like swallowing a bad piece of meat. Umbra struggled but then subsided under the weight of Sharah's mind. It felt like she was flexing a muscle in her head that coaxed the blade into a quiet slumber. _

_Only when the soul was fully asleep did she dare to lift the blade higher and swing it experimentally. It was heavier than Chillrend, which was fully battered in its sheath from the duel. But given all her training, she was able to handle size of the weapon itself. The real issue, however, was going to be keeping control of her own mind when using it. Sharah detached the sheath from the Bosmer's belt and slid the weapon home. _

_When she turned for the door, Barbas was sitting looking cockeyed at her. "What?" she demanded. _

_A dog shrugging was an odd sight, "I've seen worse."_

_Sharah lashed the sword to the back of her pack, "What will happen if Clavicus Vile gets this sword back?" _

_Barbas came to his feet, "It'll ruin him. Well, not totally. He's a Daedra and all that. Keep the sword if you want. Looks like you may be able to handle it. But don't give it back to Clavicus. He doesn't know what's good for him sometimes." _

_Sharah tossed the pack onto her back, "Well, I have to at least go back to the shrine and talk to him. We'll see what happens then." _

_The dog barked excitedly, "You're actually gonna walk up to Clavicus Vile at his shrine with the sword? But you're not gonna give it to him, right? Right?" _

_Sharah glared at the dog in exasperation._

XXX

"I'm keeping it with me so no one else falls victim. I can handle the soul better than others. So it's my responsibility. But I'm still getting a handle on using it. Which is why I still favor Chillrend. Just…don't touch it, sir. Please," Sharah looked pleadingly at Oreyn. The guild second gave her an appraising look, as though he were trying to figure out how to handle this new information. Sharah wondered briefly if he was more concerned with the sword, or her. She mentally berated herself for drawing the thing against him in the first place. Knowing the danger, she should have spoken up.

Oreyn finally relaxed his gaze, "I trust you'll stay on top of it, then." Sharah nodded and lashed Umbra to her back. While she buckled Chillrend onto her hip, Oreyn continued, "There's a contract I need you to see to. It involves Bien Amelion of Water's Edge."

Sharah thought a moment, "Water's Edge? That's almost all the way to Leyawiin, right?"

He nodded, "But this contract requires some subtlety. Bien Amelion is badly in debt and wants to sell her grandfather's enchanted cuirass and sword to pay it off. The problem is they're buried in her family tomb which, like most tombs, houses some degree of undead. She can't reach them, so you will."

Sharah shifted uncomfortably, "It sounds a bit like grave robbing, sir."

Oreyn stood straight, "Very nearly. But since it's at the request of a family member, the law does not apply. Public opinion, however, will doubtless be against it. Your task is to complete the contract quietly. Things are bad enough without the guild being accused of raiding a tomb." Sharah felt there was more to that last sentence just by the way he said it. But he didn't give her time to ask, "We got this contract a week and a half ago. Local guildhall can't keep secrets for their lives. So I want you to go down there and complete the contract. Keeping it quiet. Understand?"

Sharah nodded, "Absolutely. I can leave within the hour."

XXX

Oreyn watched Sharah dash up the stairs to prepare for departure. He saw an incredible improvement since the day he recruited her just over four years ago after she helped the Odiil boys defend their farm from goblins. At the time he'd seen a meek fearful little farm girl with some skill with a blade. He'd kept an increasingly interested eye on her through the reports he got from the guildhalls. She wandered more than any other member of the guild, spent years braving the wilderness and making a name for herself, intentionally or not, throughout the whole of Cyrodiil. Seeing the girl here, she was still a little reserved, but he'd work that out of her over time.

His interest stemmed from the fact that she'd shown flashes of leadership and other qualities that the guild had in very short supply right now. Qualities the guild couldn't afford to lose for any reason. Valena's weakened leadership was beginning to show and there were unsettling rumors coming in from both the north and the south. The Guild needed every fiery spirit and fearless fighter they could get. And Sharah certainly qualified there. She was still a bit reserved and had an underlying uncertainty. But he expected that the work he was going to assign her would hone what she had and help her get past the shortcomings to take up a position of strength within the guild. All his experience told him she was up to the task.

**Reviews are appreciated. But keep in mind, I'm writing this for me more than for you. But feel free to enjoy and let me know how I'm doing****.**


	2. Of Goblins and Debts

**Reviews are appreciated, even if it's just "I read it". Please? **

**Bethesda owns the Elder Scrolls. I only own my OC.**

Sharah rode southward along the Yellow Road toward her contract: raiding a family tomb for a good cause. And undead to look forward to as well. Sharah shuddered. She hated the undead. Just the idea of a body not staying dead was…unpleasant at best, grotesque and revolting at worst.

And she had met a few…acceptable ghosts. The Forlorn Watchman that had once wandered the shores of Niben Bay had just been a poor cursed sailor looking for help. But even when she unlocked the shackles that held his earthly body and his soul to the mortal plane, Sharah still got the creeps and a strong desire to bathe. Sharah shuddered again at the memory. Even the "good" ghosts were unpleasant to be around. Well, at least she'd be able to attack these ones…probably.

She urged her chestnut into a gentle canter. She liked this horse. Hardier than some of the others she'd had. They'd been together for almost six months now. Longer than any of her other mounts had lasted. But she still hadn't given the gelding a name. It was too likely that they'd be ambushed and the horse killed. Sharah'd lost so manymounts already, she didn't allow herself to get attached to them anymore. So she just called him her chestnut. Hm, maybe now that she had a…somewhat stable assignment and wasn't likely to be wandering so much, maybe she would give him a name. She had to start putting down some kind of roots, right? Why not start with the horse she rode?

A distant cry caught her attention. It was to her right, off the road. Sharah reined her horse to a stop and listened. The sound repeated, closer this time. Sharah recognized it. Goblins. Damn! And this had been such a lovely ride so far. Another cry off to her left. They were on both sides of the road? Sharah drew Chillrend and set her horse into a full gallop, all the time watching the wilderness on either side. They were all around her, closing in, screaming as they approached. Any minute they'd clear the road and she'd be in trouble.

The cries intensified, the undergrowth shook and goblins burst from the foliage all around her. Sharah didn't wait for the first strike. Sharah's hold on the reins stayed tight, maneuvering the horse around the enemies as they came into their path. Chillrend flashed at any of the screaming creatures that got close enough and drove her mount from the ambush, hooves thundering down the road.

Sharah kept her ears and eyes open, waiting for the perfect time to leap from the saddle and take the fight to the ground. Goblins were persistent bastards. They'd chased her for miles before, until she finally got tired of the pursuit and just stopped to kill them. Sharah chanced a look behind and saw the road directly behind her was…empty?

She drew her chestnut up and looked back the way they'd come. The goblins could still be seen doing battle on the road, but against each other. Sharah stared. She'd never seen goblins forsake a human target for one of their own kind. And yet there they were, tearing away at each other and not paying her an ounce of attention. Ordinarily, Sharah would take it on herself to kill as many as she could just for sake of disliking the creatures. But it was full daylight and they seemed to be doing a fine job of that on their own anyway. So Sharah took advantage of their battle to get out of sight before there was a victor left to turn on her.

The chestnut was only too happy to run away until the sounds of battle faded into those of the wilderness. The ride slowed and proceeded at a steady pace until after nightfall. She wanted to get as far from the fight as possible before stopping, lest the victors catch her scent and track her.

In the evening light, the glimmer of a campfire could be seen just ahead and off the road. Sharah treated it with caution, having come across as many bandits as travelers in her wanderings. In this case, her caution was unnecessary as the small group gathered around the campfire had the look of hardship and loss, but not one of aggression. There was only one among them who was armed. A Redguard hunter who stood when she sighted Sharah on the road. Sharah dismounted and approached the group on foot.

The woman looked relieved when the rider proved as passive as they were, "Well met. Please, warm yourself by our fire. It's good to see a friendly face."

Sharah inclined her head, "Thank you. I appreciate the welcome." When she'd unsaddled her chestnut, Sharah joined the group around the fire. They introduced themselves as the Bincals: Barthel, his daughter Callia, and her husband Aloys. Along with the hunter who acted as their guide, Mirisia. Sharah couldn't help but notice that the camp was sparse of most of what she would consider regular supplies. When the family had retired, Sharah and Mirisia stayed up talking.

Mirisia asked, "Did you happen to encounter goblins on the road?"

Sharah nodded, "Yeah. Although, they didn't cause me too much trouble. Seemed more interested in killing each other than me. I've never seen that before with goblins."

Mirisia nodded, "Yes, goblin war parties. The area to the northwest is right in the middle of a goblin war. You must have run right through it."

"A goblin war? Huh. I suppose I'd expect that from them, but I've never come across it before."

Mirisia shook her head sadly, "And right on top of Cropsford, too."

Sharah looked up, "Cropsford?"

Mirisia jerked her head to the family in their makeshift tents, "That's the new settlement they came to establish. It's why they're here. When the goblins attacked, I managed to warn them in time to get everyone to safety. But everything they have is now right in the middle of that war. It's terrible. They have nothing to go back to either. And now…Well, it's just terrible."

Sharah nodded, "Yeah. And all ruined because of a couple crazy goblin tribes. I wish I'd just up and killed that war party on the road. Maybe lessened the danger a little."

The hunter looked into the campfire for a few moments. "How good are you with that sword?" she finally said.

Sharah fingered Chillrend's hilt, "I'm no master. But I hold my own against goblins."

"And how are you with, say, stealth?"

Sharah raised an eyebrow, while the corners of her mouth curled upward, "Better than with a blade. Why? Did you have something in mind?"

Mirisia leaned forward, "That depends on which you would prefer: something crazy stupid, or stupid crazy."

Sharah grinned back, "In my life, there's hardly a difference."

Suddenly they weren't just two women in a chance encounter. They were two women of Redguard blood planning an adventure.

When the Bincal family woke up the next morning, both their guide and the new arrival were absent. Although the chestnut horse was still standing nearby. They gathered what few supplies they had to prepare a meal and try to decide how they might face the impossible situation ahead. Bartel and Aloys were taking up an argument about returning to High Rock when the two Redguard women walked back into camp looking tired but well satisfied.

"You are a mad woman, Sharah," Mirisia laughed.

Sharah hefted what looked like a goblin head on a stick onto her shoulder, "You were the one who used the word 'crazy' last night. Does that make you the stupid one?" They laughed.

Bartel stood to meet them, "Where were you? We thought something might have happened."

The two women exchanged looks, Mirisia saying, "We had quite a night. But the short story is you can now build Cropsford. The goblin tribes have been taken care of, thanks to our brave new friend."

Sharah waved her off, "Brave, maybe. But it was your brilliant plan that did it. How did you learn all that stuff about them?"

Bartel cut off the stream of praises before it got started, "Wait. You mean the goblins are gone? It's safe to go back?"

Mirisia nodded, "As safe as it will ever be." The two women watched as the family celebrated and hurried to pack their things, once again filled with the hope for a new life.

Sharah said to her companion, "I'd like to stay and maybe help them get settled. But, I'm actually expected further south. And while this thing would make a lovely souvenir for them, it's probably better to get it as far from Cropsford as possible."

Mirisia replied, "I understand. And thank you for helping me. I could never have been done any of it without you."

Sharah grinned, "I'm just happy to help. And now they have a shot at this. That's reward enough for me. I'll leave the totem staff somewhere between here and Leyawiin. Farewell, Mirisia."

"Safe travels, Sharah Wolf."

She'd gotten most of the way through saddling her horse when the woman Callia came up behind her, "You are leaving?"

Sharah tightened the girth, "Mm-hm, I have a contract down south I need to get to. And I'm too energized to sleep after last night. Better to get back on the road."

Callia didn't try to dissuade her, "Mirisia says you ended the goblin war."

"I helped her do it, yes."

The woman didn't argue, "Thank you. This means…so much to us. Just know, you are always welcome here. Anything that comes of this settlement…we owe to you."

Sharah smiled, "It was my pleasure. I hope it works out for you." Then she mounted and headed for the road, sighing. Sharah the Wolf, at it again. She just couldn't say 'no'.

XXX

It was late afternoon, but given the sky it may as well have been midnight with no moons. As per usual in southern Cyrodiil during this season, it was raining. But today the rain was coming down in buckets, the wind howled and the sky was covered in especially dark clouds that blotted out the sunlight. If Sheogorath was ever to be summoned, today was perfect. In the small settlement of Water's Edge, the fencing around the sheep corral was hardly necessary as the creatures clustered beneath the straw awning in fear of the awful weather. Even the human denizens were shuttered up in their houses, refusing the brave the storm to accomplish anything.

And so no one saw the rider enter town on an absolutely miserable chestnut horse. The rider dismounted and opened the corral to admit her mount. The creature was only too happy to get some shelter from the downpour while the sheep were terrified to a state of paralysis and so didn't resist their new bedfellow. The woman did everything she could to remove water from the horse's coat given she had nothing dry to use. She also whispered a spell of calming to all creatures within the sound of her voice, and finished with a gentle heating enchantment on the chestnut's coat to stave off a chill.

But before venturing back out into the storm, she stood marveling at its power. There was something about the mad turmoil of nature that appealed to her, deep down. For all the ferocity, there was a powerful freedom in a storm that no mortal weather witch could hope to control. The Daedric Princes themselves would have a hard time with this one. Lightening that split the sky, thunder that rattled the bones, wind that tore wildly through the trees. It was beautiful. Entrancing. Maybe that was why the Madgod liked them. She finished her musings and wrapped the cloak tight before setting course for one of the house doors.

The woman inside barely heard the knock above the thunder and answered the door. The cloaked figure on her doorstep was forced to shout in order to be heard, "Is this the home of Biene Amelion?"

Biene nodded, fighting the hold the door against the blustering wind, "It is. Who are you?"

"Fighters Guild. May I come in, please?"

Biene held the door open to admit her and a burst of wind, leaves and rain as well. The new arrival took command of the door from her and shut out the storm with far greater ease than the home's occupant could have managed. She shook a layer of water from her cloak and yanked off the hood to reveal herself, "I'm Sharah of the Fighters Guild. Sorry for the delay. I had to get here from headquarters."

Biene looked surprised but relieved, "Oh, I was starting to wonder…May I take your cloak?"

Sharah smiled, "Thank you. But don't trouble yourself with me, just tell me where I can hang it." She put the sopping wet garment on a hook on the wall while Biene went to prepare another cup of hot tea from the kettle she had heating on the stove. When they were both settled at the table, Sharah began their discussion, "You have a debt that needs paying?"

Biene nodded, "Yes, my father was quite a gambler. And quite a bad gambler, too. He built up a considerable debt. And when he couldn't pay, the debtors came and…dragged him from our home in the night. Now the debt is mine. And if I don't pay, they may do something terrible to him…if they haven't already. Or come for me next." The woman tried to remain calm, but she clearly feared for her father and for her own life. Debtors, like the kind that supported gamblers, were not lenient.

"How much is the debt?" Sharah asked softly.

Biene touched a cloth to the corners of her eyes, "A great deal. Almost a thousand septims." The woman breathed deep and hardened herself, "To pay my debt, I want to sell the sword and cuirass of my grandfather. They are enchanted and should cover everything."

Sharah said, "And you want me to retrieve them."

Biene nodded with a heavy head, "Yes. They're buried with my grandfather in the family tomb. I can show you where it is. But I don't know what guards it anymore."

Sharah waved the thought away, "Don't concern yourself about that. I've dealt with undead before, and it seems you have enough to deal with."

Biene sagged, "Thank you. I'm sorry to rush you, but after all this time the debtors may be getting impatient. The storm should hold them off for a while but—"

Sharah drank the last of her tea and stood, "I'll leave now, then."

Biene started, "In the middle of this storm!?"

The fighter looked back, "Well, yes. You've waited long enough. Only…"

"What?" Biene asked hurriedly.

Sharah looked questioningly, "May I leave my horse in your corral? He's been through enough of the weather for today."

Biene nodded emphatically, "Yes, yes, of course. But, are you sure?"

Sharah grinned, "Absolutely. Besides, I like storms. One of the many things that keeps life interesting." Biene pointed her toward the Amelion tomb's location and was still stunned when the fighter tossed on her cloak and dove right back out into the gale. Biene was almost glad that she'd waited all this time. It had resulted in a fearless woman to serve her contract.

XXX

The smell of the tomb got stuck in Sharah's nose like a cobweb. But at least it didn't look cursed. Biene warned about guardians though, so Sharah paid close attention and focused on slipping from shadow to shadow.

The woman was in a tough spot, having to sell her family's heirlooms to cover her father's gambling. It wasn't fair. Poor woman.

The smell of the tomb alone made this contract distasteful, but what Sharah was doing and why certainly topped it off. But the dead and buried played second to the alive and breathing every time in her book. So, here she was.

Biene's grandfather's resting place was a stone coffin, beautifully carved. Even if it was a burial place, Sharah had to appreciate the craftsmanship. But she didn't appreciate it so much that she wasn't willing to break the seal and push back the lid. A wave of old death hit her in the face. Sharah held her breath and groaned. She really hoped the storm would keep up long enough for her to breathe this out of her nose.

Any further mental complaints were silenced when Sharah saw exactly what she'd been sent to retrieve. It was beautiful. The bones of Brusef Amelion lay in his tomb, garbed in the most dazzling armor Sharah had ever seen in all her travels. It was bright as mithril, emblazoned with designs in silver, and must have been as hard as orcish metal. And the patterns were all handmade, not only exquisitely arranged but telling of the grand deeds the man had accomplished in his life. Sharah was hesitant even to touch the metal but when she did, it told her all the more about the man. Brusef Amelion must have been immensely strong to have carried such heavy armor into battle. She was going to be hard pressed to get both the cuirass and sword back to Biene.

That brought Sharah up short. She didn't want to remove it. And it was more than just breaking up a beautiful set of armor or the risk of disturbing the man's bones. This armor was a piece of Biene's family history. A proud part. It was more than just armor worth gold. It was…personal. Even if the woman hadn't seen it in a long time or didn't know what all these symbols and designs meant. Even if she didn't know every deed her grandfather must have accomplished in them. Sharah stared down at the task she'd been given. And all of this because this man's son had gambled away his family's safety. Sharah sighed. This wasn't fair. More than that. It was distinctly unfair. There was honor buried in this tomb, with this man and his legacy. Family legacy. Sharah sighed.

She walked to the other side of the coffin and shoved the lid back into place and then turned to the entrance to find it blocked by ghostly figures. Her hand jumped to Chillrend's hilt but she managed not to draw it, "Relax! I'm not taking anything!" Sharah felt a breath in the air behind her and whirled to see the ghost of Brusef Amelion standing at the base of his resting place in the splendor of his armor. The woman suppressed a shudder, but spoke besides, "Your granddaughter Biene is in need. I came to take her back your cuirass and sword to pay a debt, but I'm not doing it. I'll find another way to help her." Sharah's swallowed to muffle the unpleasant pit in her stomach and her tone turned fierce, "But listen here. I don't care who you were in life, you're not keeping me from leaving this tomb!" She prayed she sounded more certain than she felt.

The ghost regarded her for a moment in silence. Then he bowed. At the same moment, the rest of Biene's ancestors stepped aside, clearing a path out of the tomb. Sharah sighed and chose to return the bow before taking the open path with greater speed than would be considered generally polite.

Once out of the tomb she breathed deep and let the rain soak her face and hair. It didn't matter how honorable, how respectful, how understandable a ghost was, she hated, hated, HATED the undead. No question in her mind. But at least she could deal with them without fainting dead away or attacking without cause. That was…something, at least.

Sharah didn't bother to pull up her hood. She appreciated the rain. Now, she had stored a cache of gold somewhere near Leyawiin. It probably had enough, provided the thing hadn't been found. Then she'd just have to think of something else.

XXX

Biene Amelion admitted Sharah into her house the following day. The storm had passed late in the night but Biene was concerned when Sharah did not enter bearing the cuirass and sword she'd asked for. Sharah pulled a bag of coin from her pack and placed it on the table, "The money for your debt."

Biene looked at it and couldn't help but be upset. She took a breath and tried not to glare at the fighter, "I know I paid the guild to help me cover my debt. But I don't appreciate you just selling my grandfather's armor without me being present. It was a family heirloom and you did not have the right to—"

"Your grandfather's armor is right where it should be: resting in the tomb," Sharah interrupted.

Biene was startled, "You…you didn't retrieve them?"

Sharah sighed, "I was going to. But, you're right. They are family heirlooms. Important family heirlooms. And you shouldn't have to part with it just for want of money. And that is money for your debt. A thousand septims." Biene's gaze darted from the fighter to the bag on the table. Sharah continued, "I know how important family heirlooms are. I myself still have my father's sword. It's not as grand as the armor of your grandfather, but I know the importance of it. And I know I would never part with that blade if there was any other option. So take that to cover your debt, and keep your grandfather's armor in your family."

Biene reached out with shaking hands and lifted the bag, marveling at the weight of coin that she now found herself offered, "But…I can't pay this back to the guild—"

Sharah stopped her, "You don't have to. I was asked to handle your contract and this is how I chose to do it. You don't have to pay anything but what you already have." Sharah leaned against a support post, "Now, when can you pay off this debt? I'd like to make sure you get your father back as well."

Biene started, "Oh, no, you needn't do that. You've already done so much."

The fighter didn't budge, "I know. But I want to see this contract through. You may have paid for the guild to retrieve your grandfather's armor for the sake of a debt. But what you really want is to get your father back and save yourself and him from these debtors. Correct?"

Biene nodded.

"Then, by the spirit of it, our contract isn't done. And I don't like to leave things half finished. So let me help you get your father back and rid you both of these debtors for good. Please." Biene was so overcome with emotion from this show of generosity and concern from a stranger that she dropped the bag and threw her arm around the fighter's shoulders.

XXX

The next knock at the door was far less welcome. Sharah's demeanor was all that kept Biene calm. Sharah stood and moved into the shadows behind the door, "Just relax. I'll be here if you need me." Biene nodded and went to open the door.

"Miss Amelion," the accent was of Morrowind and sounded oily enough the man must slip when he walked, "I received word that you are now capable of paying your debt."

Biene nodded, "I have the gold here."

"Then let's see it." Biene went and brought the bag back from the table. Sharah heard it change hands. "Excellent. It was good doing business with you."

Biene said, "Wait. What about my father?"

The departing footsteps paused, "If this carries though, then we'll see." The footsteps resumed and Biene looked desperately at Sharah.

Sharah's lip curled and she stepped around the door, "You didn't answer the question."

The Dunmer debtor looked back as Sharah followed him outside. "And who might you be?" Sharah took stock of the situation in a moment. The Dunmer was dressed in fine clothing. Probably fancied himself an upstanding businessman. He was accompanied by a Nord in iron armor, an enforcer by the look of him, and a Breton who likely served as an accountant of sorts. She could handle it.

"Someone to make sure this works out for everyone," she replied.

The Dunmer smiled, "I believe it has. But your concern is appreciated."

Sharah took two steps and grabbed his bicep, "Perhaps you're alright with this arrangement. We are not. And you're not leaving until we get a satisfactory answer regarding Marcel Amelion's return."

He sneered, "Oh, am I?"

His enforcer made to intervene. Sharah beat him to it. In ten seconds flat she intercepted, her speed more than a match for his strength. She knocked the sword from his hand, took hold of his arm and with one wrench popped it from its socket. The enforcer collapsed to the ground with a shriek, rolling in agony and clutching the now useless limb.

Sharah stepped back toward the Dunmer without so much as a winking glance toward his enforcer, "Now, about Biene's father." The Dunmer's face was serious, and the Breton's had paled a few shades.

He cleared his throat, "If the amount covers the debt, he will be free to return."

Sharah didn't relax her gaze, "Then count it here, so we're all sure." He sniffed, trying to retain at least the appearance of control, and beckoned to his accountant who took the bag. Sharah placed herself between them and Biene's home, "Oh, no. You've already made yourself unwelcome here." And she jerked her head to a work table outside.

They relented and they walked toward it, the Dunmer striding and the Breton scurrying. Sharah cast a glance at the writhing enforcer and rolled her eyes. She walked over and yanked him upright. Then said, "Don't move", and popped the joint back into place. The Nord grunted and whimpered, while Sharah fixed him with an intense look that said 'behave, or I'll pull out the other one'. All four watched as the Breton counted through the coin.

Sharah would admit to no one that she rather liked the sideways, wary glances the trio was casting her way. Made her feel…dangerous. Wolfish. Nor would she admit that she hadn't minded popping that shoulder loose. Not in the least.

At one point the Breton cast a glance at her and his eyes widened. Sharah followed his gaze and saw he was looking at her coin purse. A glance at his told her why. They both had a string of beads on the leather thongs that held their purses shut. The beads that identified the Thieves Guild. And she had more than him. Sharah met his eyes, "Keep going." The Breton swallowed and forced his attention back to the task in his hands.

When all the coin had been counted the Breton turned to his employer, "It's all here."

The Dunmer looked at her, "Is that good enough for you?"

Sharah folded her arms, "You've yet to promise his return."

The Dunmer replied, "He'll be released the moment I get back."

"That's not good enough. I want your word that you will leave this family alone from now on…"

"Fine."

"…and that you will not give Marcel any more money."

The Dunmer sneered, "Oh, you think you're protecting some lost soul? You think getting rid of me will stop his little gambling problem. I know men, girl. He'll just find someone else to fuel his habit."

Sharah frowned, "Maybe. But it won't be from you." Then she gave him a look that, she'd been told, could freeze the blood in a man's veins, "And if you do, or if you trouble the Amelions ever again, it won't matter where you go. I'll find you, and you'll know exactly why I'm called the Wolf. Got it?" The cold in her tone was joined by a little chill in her chest, which she ignored.

The Dunmer swallowed hard. He dealt with weak wills and desperate souls. He was no warrior, and his enforcer had already proven insufficient against her. So all he could do was nod. The look in his eyes was enough to satisfy Sharah, "Good. Now I suggest you go back where you came from and send Marcel home."

The trio headed for the road, moving faster away than they had arrived. Only the Breton cast a last look at her. He wouldn't say a word to his employer about what they had in common. But he'd make sure the Dunmer held to his promise. They both knew that members of the Thieves Guild had ways of learning just about anything.

Biene came up behind Sharah, "Was it a good idea, threatening him like that?"

Sharah shrugged, "Maybe not. But he doesn't know what I'm capable of. That will at least give him pause. And if he shows up again, just send word through the Fighters Guild. I'll come back and kick his ass."

Biene smiled, "Thank you. He…he will send my father back, won't he?"

Sharah nodded, "Absolutely. But I'll stick around until he arrives. Just in case." And she did.

After the tearful reunion of Biene and her father, Sharah excused herself from Water's Edge. The pair waved goodbye as Sharah rode back north. She didn't know how long this experience would stick with him. She'd seen that kind of person often enough at the Imperial City Arena. The habit was nearly impossible to break. She just hoped that, for his daughter's sake, he'd make the effort.

But regardless, seeing a reunited family did her a world of good. There was still the raw ache of her own loss, but a sight like that eased the pain for a while. Sharah'd ride by Cropsford, just to check on them, and then make her way back to Chorrol and report on her contract. She wasn't really sure how Oreyn was going to react to this.

XXX

Sharah briefed Oreyn in his…office. It wasn't really an office. Oreyn didn't have one. But when he needed to talk where no one else would hear, he used the guild tower. Well, it was actually a narrow three level building that was attached to the main guildhall by a second floor passage. The guild tended to use it for storage. But the guild members still called it the tower.

Oreyn took her to the third floor of it and they sat on two storage chests to talk. This was where he'd interrogated her before assigning her to be his assistant. It felt informal, except for the rigid looking Dunmer. But talking in the Guildmaster's office was like asking for the entire hall to hear everything that was said, since all the floors of the guildhall had been built openly and were only really separated by wooden floors and railings.

Sharah sat straight and told everything that happened on her assignment. Even Cropsford. And as she talked, Sharah started to realize just how different she'd handled things from what had been expected. Oreyn remained silent through her entire telling, his expression unreadable.

When she was done, Sharah waited for the hammer to fall. She expected him to rebuke her for going goblin hunting before seeing to her contract, or criticize her for not doing the contract as instructed, or remind her that she'd spent her own money on Biene's debt and the guild would not be reimbursing her. But he didn't.

When she was done, Oreyn just stood up and said, "Good work on the contract, here's your payment." Sharah received a coin pouch that contained a couple hundred coins. She blinked.

When Oreyn moved toward the trap door, she stood up, "Is that it?"

He looked back at her, "Where you expecting something more?"

"Well…I thought…no, I guess not," Sharah replied, not sure whether to be concerned or relieved about his leniency.

"Good. Now go get some rest. You look like hell."

**Review please. I'd like to know what you think.**


	3. Fear of Contracts and Pants

**This chapter is shorter, but hopefully sweet. Let me know by reviewing.**

**I only own my OC. All hail Bethesda for their genius!**

Two weeks following her return from Water's Edge, Modryn Oreyn stalked into the basement, "Sharah! I've got a job for you." Sharah had her mind wrapped around Umbra in concentration, but sheathed both the blade and soul without much trouble and was off the practice mat before the Dunmer got to her. She was not about to give him an opportunity to take up a sparring match while he briefed her. As much as Sharah appreciated that she was one of the only ones he took the time to train, she'd gotten enough bruises from him this week. Oreyn did not pull his punches. Even Kurz gro-Baroth had to groan in sympathy whenever he saw her hit the mat.

"Contract?" she asked.

"An assignment. You're going to Skingrad. I want you to find Maglir. He's one of your guild brothers. Wet around the ears, and he's defaulted on a contract. We can't allow that. It makes us all look bad. You're going to go down there and find out what's wrong with him. And make sure that contract gets finished. Got it?"

"Got it." She'd never heard of a contract being defaulted on. It seemed this was the sort of guild matters that Oreyn said he'd be sending her off on. Normally he'd send word to the head of the local guildhall on how to handle the problem. Now, he was sending her.

Sharah put together her travel pack and dropped by the Gray Mare for supplies. She'd actually spent plenty of time here while in town. Especially after bouts with Oreyn. Anytime she came down with new bruises, she received plenty of coddling from Emfrid, whether she liked it or not. The concern was appreciated, if a little unnecessary, but it made Sharah smile. This woman was going to make a wonderful mother one day.

"Hello, Emfrid. I need supplies for a few days."

"I'll put something together. A contract?" Emfrid asked.

Sharah shrugged, "Yeah. I should be gone for a week or so."

The woman glanced at Sharah sideways, "What should I tell Guilbert?"

It took a moment for Sharah to figure out what she meant. Sharah often kept Guilbert Jemane company at the Gray Mare while he watched over his brother's drinking bouts. "Oh, well, tell him I'm on assignment in Skingrad. I won't be too long. You don't have to worry about me, Emfrid," Sharah assured her.

Emfrid shook her head in exasperation over something and handed Sharah a pack of supplies, "Just know that you'll be missed."

Sharah rolled her eyes, "I'm not vanishing. I'll be back in here before you know it." Emfrid sighed again as Sharah walked out the door.

She mounted up and set her chestnut at a trot down the Black Road. As she passed the Odiil farm, Rallus hailed her from where he was working in the field. Sharah visited the farm periodically when she needed to get out from within the city walls. The brothers were quite welcoming. This time, though, she didn't do more than slow her mount's gait, "Can't stay this time. I'm headed for a contract."

Rallus leaned on the fence and called, "I'll be here when you get back." Sharah waved farewell and urged her horse to pick his pace back up while Rallus remained at the rail, looking after her until Sharah was concealed by a bend in the road. Any other day she might have noticed him say 'I' instead of 'we'. But her mind was to set on trying to figure out what might cause a guild member to default on a contract.

XXX

When Sharah entered the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall, Ah-Malz and Parwen were in the dining room, knee deep in one of their customary goblin hunters' squabbles. "You little cheat! I was on contract. You can't just say you're better because I wasn't there!" Parwen snapped.

Ah-Malz looked smug, "Well, I didn't think you'd mind."

The Bosmer glared at him, "You cleared the whole mine. That's not fair. I'm twice the goblin hunter you are!"

Ah-Malz said, "Oh. What about last time at Goblin Jim's?"

Parwen replied, "That was not my fault. My bowstring snapped."

The Argonian laughed, "Sure it did. Or perhaps you were simply too scared to clear the entire cave all by yourself."

"Well, let's just go see who can kill more in one go. Goblin Jim's. Right now!" Parwen said, coming to her feet.

Sharah shoved her fingers into her mouth and let loose an ear splitting whistle. If they got much more into it, she'd never get a word in. "Do you think I could get some questions answered before you two go taking each other's heads off?"

Ah-Malz rubbed his ear holes, "Oh, nice to see you again, too, Wolf." She could hear the sarcasm.

"Sorry, but you two can get kind of intense. I'm looking for Maglir."

Parwen replied, "The Bosmer? He's not here. Hasn't been back since Ah-Malz sent him on the contract."

The Argonian sneered, "I think he's down at the West Weald."

"What was his contract, anyway?" Sharah asked, leaning on the table.

Ah-Malz replied, "He was supposed to retrieve Brenus Astis' journal from Fallen Rock Cave. Not that hard of a job."

"Not like clearing a cave of goblins," Parwen said pointedly.

Sharah smiled, but before the two could get back into their bickering Fadus Calidius walked into the room…wearing nothing but his smalls. Sharah squeaked and slapped her hands over her eyes. Parwen noticed the movement and the cause, "Fadus. Again?" Sharah felt him sit down at the table and she edged away.

Fadus said, "What? There's no one else here. And the breeze is quite refreshing."

Sharah whimpered, refusing to recognize what he was referring to, and felt her way out of the room, "I'll just go see Maglir then, shall I?" Fadus snickered as she scurried blindly for the front door.

XXX

It wasn't hard to pick out Maglir. He was the Bosmer in iron armor, staring at the bottom of a flagon of ale. Sharah shook her head. She didn't want to jump to conclusion regarding a guildmate, but this was a pretty pathetic display over a journal. She walked up and stood in front of him, "Maglir? I'm Sharah. The guild sent me to check up on you."

The Bosmer looked up at her, his eyes angry and a little unfocused, "I know who you are. You're Oreyn's new lap dog."

Sharah started, "Excuse me?"

His lip twitched, "Yeah, the whole guild knows. Oreyn's got you on a leash, right? Only lets you out for special occasions? He sent you to find me, right, sister?" The last word was coupled with a sneer.

Sharah's normally _ temper flared up a bit. If anyone else had said that to her, she'd have clocked him. But the Bosmer was bitter and clearly drunk. And this was the first instance where she was trusted to deal with a guild related issue outside of contracts. She didn't want to screw up by jumping to conclusions or acting rash. Instead, Sharah sat down, "Yeah, he did. You defaulted on your contract."

"Defaulted?" Maglir spat, "I suppose so. I don't get paid enough for this."

Sharah tried to remain understanding, "You were just asked to retrieve a journal."

"From Fallen Rock Cave! You ever been there? NO! I'm not going back. Not for that kind of money," he said angrily.

"The contract has to get done, Magir. We can go together," Sharah offered.

But Maglir was stubborn, "No way. If you care that much, you do it. It's not worth it for what the guild is paying. I've got a family to think about."

That last comment really struck home for her. Sharah knew she should press the point and convince her guildmate to at least go with her to the cave. But he was clearly unfit to do much of anything right now and the contract had already been left unfinished for almost a week past the expected completion date. And when it came down to it, Sharah recognized a temper tantrum when she saw one. Maglir knew he was in the wrong. Why else hide away drinking at the West Weald inn rather than return to the hall? But what she really didn't get was why he didn't just go back to the hall and ask for help. Maybe because he felt guilty? Or maybe she was just making excuses for him. Either way, he was clearly not going to be completing the contract. And that was part of Oreyn's instructions: make sure the contract got finished.

XXX

When Sharah returned to the West Weald Inn, she thought she better understood why Maglir hadn't followed through. Fallen Rock Cave was clustered with undead. It must have scared him off. Sharah joined Maglir back at his table with the journal in hand. "You found it, huh? Well, I suppose that's good," he grumbled, taking another drink and looking anywhere else, "Whatever. I guess you can just run back to Oreyn and tell him all about it."

Sharah set the journal on the table, "Maglir, look. If you couldn't handle the cave on your own, you could have just asked for help." He grunted. Still on his temper tantrum. She sighed, "I'm not going to tell Oreyn about this. I'll tell him you completed the contract. But this can't happen again, Maglir. Not just for your own reputation either. People ask us to do things that they can't. They depend on us. And problems with contracts reflect on our other guildmates. On the entire guild. This is important work. And this can't happen again."

Maglir swirled his drink without meeting her eyes, "I'm not trying to shirk my duties. It's just…it used to be two or three men would be on this. I like the guild, but I've got a family to consider."

Sharah nodded, "I understand. But if you can't handle something, ask for help. The point of a guild is that we're here for each other." He grunted and kept his head down. Sharah stood up and patted his shoulder, "Take the journal to Ah-Malz when you're up to it. I'll tell Oreyn you did the contract. Don't let this happen again." She got no response, but left anyway.

Maglir wasn't the toughest of fighters. But the contract was done and she didn't know what else to do in regards to him. Any number of things could have put him in that chair. And not everyone was as capable as she was at battling past their fears. Not everyone could overcome all the obstacles in front of them. It wasn't fair to hold everyone to her sort of standards. Hopefully, this would serve as a lesson to the man and he'd do better in the future. Hopefully. In the meantime, as his guildmate, it was her duty to watch his back. And she'd do just that.

Back in the Skingrad Fighters Guildhall, Sharah found Ah-Malz, "I expect Maglir will be back in here in not too long. With the journal."

The Argonian cocked his head, "Finished the contract did you?"

Sharah looked him right in the eye, "He's bringing the journal in. Let's leave it at that."

Ah-Malz got the idea and shrugged, "Contract's done. Or almost. That's good enough for me. And the client."

Sharah nodded, "Yeah, I'd better get back to Chorrol and report this." Sharah inclined her head to the Guildhall head and turned for the door. She came around the corner toward the exit and shrieked, "Oh, Fadus! Would you put some pants on!?"

XXX

Sharah disliked lying straight to Oreyn's face. But she couldn't leave Maglir out to dry. What about his family? If he got kicked out of the guild for defaulting on his contract, how would he support them? Oreyn seemed to be peering into her very soul as she reported Maglir's phony success. "You're sure he didn't default," Oreyn said carefully.

Sharah nodded, "Yes, sir. Maglir did the contract. It just took longer than expected. That's all." If Oreyn found out she was lying to him he might demote her and stick her back in regular guild work. And Maglir might get kicked out of the guild entirely.

Sharah kept very still as the guild second scrutinized her. "Hm. Well, it's good to know the job got done." Oreyn broke eye contact and Sharah tried not to look relieved. But before he opened the tower's trapdoor he said, "Let's hope your friend Maglir has learned a lesson here." Sharah froze, but Oreyn just left her alone in his makeshift office. Alone with her thoughts.

Did he know? It sounded like he knew. But why didn't he call her on it? Sharah's stomach felt a little queasy. There had been no good options here. Either she lied to her superior or sacrificed the livelihood of a guildmate. She groaned. If this was what authority was like, she didn't want to have any more of it. Decisions like these made her want to vanish into the wilderness. But that wasn't really an option, was it?

Sharah needed a drink. At least the Gray Mare didn't have any underlying themes. Everything was face value. No hiding important things because of this or that. Maybe the Jemanes would be there tonight. And maybe Emfrid would have a fresh batch of her sweetrolls. Sharah needed the companionship and comfort food after this.

**For those of you who play this game as much as I do, Fadus Calidius has an issue. He has nothing to wear in the evening...so he wears nothing. First time I saw it I burst out laughing, so he gets a shout out. Some men aren't afraid to go pantless. I, however, am afraid when they do.**

**Next chapter, Dark Brotherhood makes its first appearance.**


	4. Who Stalk the Stalker

**Thanks for the patience folks. Hopefully this makes up for it. As I promised, the Dark Brotherhood's first appearance. Enjoy.**

**By the way, Bethesda owns this. I blame them for the irremovable root of inspiration in my brain.**

Sharah was afraid that Oreyn might bar her from doing work for a while after the business with Maglir. Far from it, he called her to the Guildmaster's office only a couple of days later. "You've got a contract, straight from the Captain of the Cheydinhal city guard."

"Garrus Darelliun?" she asked. She hadn't seen that man in half a year.

Oreyn looked up at her, "You know him?"

Sharah nodded, "Yeah, I helped can his predecessor and land Garrus his position." When Oreyn's eyebrow raised, she rushed to clarify, "He was stealing from the city coffers. I helped Garrus…Captain Darelliun, expose him and that got the good captain promoted."

"Hm. Well I'd say he remembers you. Cheydinhal has a killer on the loose. The Captain wants you to go catch him. And try not to be the next victim."

XXX

The night was crisp and cold. Light of the moons was hidden by high clouds, while the air nearer to Mundus was clear but wrapped in shadow. A worthy night for a hunt. He could smell the alcohol on her breath from here, and she swayed ever so slightly as she walked, indicating the depth of her intoxication. In the quiet, he could make out her elevated heartbeat and the little bar ditty she sang that could often be heard in Cheydinhal's local dark elf bar. An odd choice for a young Imperial woman to spend her evenings. In short, she was an ideal choice for this…Nightstalker.

A ridiculous name, but then he had hardly chosen it himself. The name was a product of the citizens of Cheydinhal when they realized young women were being murdered in the night. Vicente knew immediately that this Nightstalker was just another vampire. And a foolish one to have chosen this town in which to take up his feeding. Cheydinhal was already claimed as…territory, by another vampire. Although Vicente preferred to refer to it as his domain of influence. The use of a higher vocabulary, even in reference to his more animalistic nature, was one of the methods by which he maintained immaculate control over his thirst and instincts.

But, control aside, Vicente would permit no rivals. Especially one so sloppy. A vampire did not last long if he could not remain undetected by the human population that sustained him. The Nightstalker was clearly new to the thirst and at least attempting to resist the Dark Gift. He hid outside of town, somewhere in the foothills of the Valus Mountains, returning every few nights when the deprivation of blood became too much for him. It explained why every victim had been found dead and with most of their life's blood drained with the rest splashed upon the earth. And if past trends held true this would be one such night. And this young woman the most likely target.

She stumbled slightly on an uneven stone, but managed to catch herself before falling. She laughed and berated herself out loud for her clumsiness before resuming her walk and song. She had a pleasant voice and was most likely a recent visitor to the town, as most women were aware of the threat and took precautions against walking alone at night. Vicente could certainly find and kill the Nightstalker on his own. But this tender bit of bait was too tempting not to use. Besides, the role of savior would be useful to him. Vicente always preferred willing victims. They succumbed more easily to the manipulations of an experienced vampire, especially given how grateful she would be for her rescue.

Vicente would wait to reveal himself until the Nightstalker began his assault. Then he would rush in, dispatch his rival and make an easy meal of the young woman before sending her homeward, alive and with a foggy memory of what had happened. But for now, Vicente need only wait and observe.

She drifted down the street, blissfully unaware of her vampiric shadow or the coming danger. Vicente almost felt sorry for her, wandering alone at night in this state. It was a small wonder that something ill would befall her. Vicente's gleaming eyes caught a silhouette shifting in the dark between the lamps just ahead of her. Anyone else would have missed the figure hiding in the shadows. But Vicente was not just an experienced vampire, but a skilled assassin. He missed nothing. The elder of the two denizens of night prepared himself for the younger's strike. He was anxious to satisfy his rising desires: to kill and feed.

The young woman passed through the light of the lamp, footsteps carrying her nearer to the shadows that held her doom, the song still on her lips. Closer. Just a bit further. Vicente tensed, preparing to dash forward at her first cry, preparing to claim his victim and prize. She stepped from the lamplight, shadow fully engulfing her and hiding what would come from the very sight of the gods. The Nightstalker leapt from where he hid and grabbed hold of her. The young woman shrieked and struggled as the ravenous vampire sought the life flow that pulsed beneath the skin of her neck.

Vicente made to leap to her defense when there came an unexpected grunt. He paused. The attacking vampire twitched and tried to draw away, but was unable. The young woman, no longer struggling or screaming, held him tight and swung her elbow upward catching him in the jaw. The vampire staggered, and there was a glint of metal. A bright iron dagger, gleaming in her hand, and buried in her attacker's abdomen. She yanked the blade sideways, ripping through cloth and flesh. The Nightstalker stumbled away, but not fast enough. His victim turned assailant kicked him once, taking him further off balance, then leapt forward and drove her dagger into his chest and twisted. The Nightstalker's mouth went wide and his last breath escaped as a hiss before his entire body convulsed and dissolved into bone and dust upon the ground.

The entire exchange had lasted less than a minute and Vicente was left dumbstruck. The woman, however, continued her work without pause. She slipped her dagger into the hidden sheath up her sleeve and proceeded to shake the clothing free of the vampire's remains. She tossed the clothes over her shoulder, then knelt and scooped a handful of the dust into a leather pouch and tied it to her belt. She tossed the bones into the river nearby, then scattered the remaining detritus with a few swats of the clothing. Then she dropped those onto the nearest pile of refuse and proceeded down the lane, the song returning to her lips as though nothing had occurred to interrupt it.

Vicente had to close his mouth. That was most certainly unexpected. Prey turned predator in an instant, and to the detriment of his rival. Vicente was only too glad he had remained out of sight. But now he was intrigued. While all common sense warned him against it, Vicente followed after her, keeping to the shadows.

The woman's stature was entirely changed now. All swaying in her gait was gone; she strode with confidence and no small amount of satisfaction, making straight for the guard barracks at the castle and proceeding inside. As experienced as Vicente was in stealth and cunning, not even he dared to follow her there. He had not fed in three days. His appearance was decidedly vampiric. Best not to be seen in such a state. So he waited.

Approximately ten minutes Vicente spent hidden in the shadows of the courtyard before the door opened again. The young woman was silhouetted in the light along with the Guard Captain, Garrus Darelliun. "Are you sure you won't stay for a drink? Gods know you've earned it tonight."

"Perhaps another time. I'd best be getting back to the guild. Just wanted to let you know the streets are safe to walk again."

"I should say so," Captain Garrus said, "To think, a vampire, in our town."

"I thought it was kind of obvious. More likely than some garden variety murderer."

They clasped hands, "If you ever decide to retire from the guild, we'd be glad to have you."

"Thanks, Garrus. Good night," she said.

The position she held in the doorway made it impossible for Vicente to see her face. The Guard Captain watched her cross the courtyard and go towards town. Vicente followed after. The woman walked quickly with little show of concern. He could hardly blame her for feeling gratified. Her turnabout had even taken Vicente by surprise, and that was no small thing. The vampire followed until she entered the small walled courtyard outside the local Fighters guildhall. Of course. The guard must have hired the guild to put an end to their Nightstalker threat. And apparently they had chosen well. She obviously had experience in such things. But Vicente still wanted to see her face, which she had somehow managed to keep hidden from him. This woman was intriguing, and he wanted to know precisely who had impressed him, even if it was merely for his own knowledge. In fact, the only flaw he could distinguish of her performance was that she failed to notice she was being followed.

As if in answer to his thoughts, the young woman halted and turned quickly on the top step to look back toward the street, eyes searching the shadows. Vicente froze and slipped deeper into those that concealed him. Perhaps she had not let her guard fall as much as he had thought. But this did afford him the opportunity he had been looking for. While she sought evidence of a tail, the lamps hanging by the door lit up her face. Vicente found himself surprised again. He recognized her. In fact, they had met before, a few years ago outside of Skingrad. Sharah of the Fighters Guild, as he recalled. Vicente had lent her assistance. She had impressed him then as well. But she had changed a great deal since then. There had been potential before. It seemed that potential had been realized without notice.

She scanned the street once more, and then entered her guild. How interesting that their paths should cross twice in such circumstances. Vicente kept to the shadows and proceeded back toward the Sanctuary. He would not feed tonight. News of the Nightstalker's demise would spread tomorrow during the day, and by nightfall the city's population would once again feel safe to walk in the dark. Vicente would be afforded his choice of meal subjects tomorrow. Besides, he had things to ponder. She'd impressed him twice now. Perhaps Lucien should to be made aware.

XXX

Sharah shook off the feeling of unease. She had the sense that she was being watched, but assume it was by the Nightstalker. And yet the feeling remained after the trap had been sprung, which concerned her. But stranger still, some instinct told her that it posed no threat to her. She'd had this sort of feeling before and it had yet to be wrong, but that didn't mean she liked being observed by someone she couldn't see.

Once inside the guildhall, Sharah started tearing at the ties on her dress. Only Burz gro-Khash was still awake at this hour. "Contract done?" the Orc growled.

"Yeah," Sharah said, pulling pins out of her hair. She still couldn't believe she'd been talked into dressing up for this. But the trap wouldn't have been nearly as successful if she'd been in her usual leather armor. "Vampire, just like I thought. He's properly dead now, though." Sharah kicked off her slippers, still digging at the pins. She'd rather go barefoot until she could get her boots back on.

Burz gave her a good once over, "You should keep the dress. Look like a proper girl once in a while."

Sharah grinned, "Yeah, hold on to that dream. Damn! What did Felrika do up here?" The Nord had used every pin at her disposal to put Sharah's hair into place. This arrangement would confound Nocturnal. After a great deal of effort, Sharah finally yanked the last of the wire out, taking a dozen strands of hair with it, "How's she doing, by the way?" Sharah had saved Felrika from a particularly troublesome hedgewitch while on a contract last year. She'd brought the woman back to the guildhall to heal, and Felrika just never left.

Burz grunted, "Usual new meat nonsense. But at least she's got an excuse. Not like the rest of this St. Juib's fair." Sharah grinned. Burz gro-Khash was a bear sometimes, but he kept his guildhall in top shape. A close second to Azzan, but Azzan had a surplus of trainers to lean on that Burz did not. As almost a side note, Burz said, "Only real surprise is you started recruiting before working for headquarters."

The almost compliment from the Orc brought a less pleasant thought to mind. Shara's face fell and she said hesitantly, "Burz, I've got a question for you." He grunted an affirmation. Sharah sat down at the table and folded her hands, "Do people think of me as…Oreyn's lap dog?"

The Orc looked at her and his lip twitched, "Where'd you hear that trash?"

Sharah avoided his angry glare, picking at a knot on the table, "Just…another guildmate."

Burz said, "Not here, was it? Talk like that's got no place in the guild!"

She was surprised at Burz's forceful defense of her, "No, just…Please, Burz. It's just something I heard, that's all." She didn't want to get Maglir in trouble, or anything. She just wasn't used to being disliked by a guildmate. Most of them did like her, and those that didn't at least respected her because of her fearlessness in a fight or on contracts. It was how she'd gained her reputation. And probably why she was called the Wolf. But Maglir's insult just needled her. They were guildmates, brothers in arms. If her promotion to working under the guild second was going to attract that kind of attitude in force, she'd rather prepare herself to receive it.

The Orc snatched up his mug with some force, "Whole guild knows about your assignment, if that's what you mean. The Wolf of Cyrodiil settles into a single guildhall, and headquarters no less, people take notice. But no guildmember I know'd call you a 'lap dog'."

Sharah nodded, but it wasn't exactly the answer she was looking for. What if her guildmates started automatically disliking her because she held a higher station than them? What if her position of authority, handling guild matters in Oreyn's place, meant being at odds with her guild mates on a regular basis? Burz must have seen the thoughts reflected in her face because he leaned forwards and fixed his eyes on her, "You listen here, girl. You're doing this guild proud. And that promotion was a fine thing. Don't go paying mind to fetchers like that. You hear me?"

"Yeah, I hear you. Thanks, Burz," Sharah said. Burz gro-Khash didn't normally act supportive. Normally he was yelling or complaining about this or that. It meant a great deal to her that he'd drop that gruff attitude for the sake of addressing her uncertainty about this. He sat back in his chair, grumbling into his mug about spoiled meat.

Sharah excused herself and went upstairs for bed, yanking off the dress and changing into a shirt and breeches before collapsing on the mattress. She'd never been too good at dealing with negativity. Unless it was from opponents, but then they were enemies to be defeated. Having a guildmate at odds with her, a comrade, someone she'd fight beside and trust with her life…Maybe she was just taking this too personally. Maglir had been drunk and in a hard place. And just because he didn't like her didn't mean he wouldn't fight beside her. And she was bound to come across people who didn't like her outright. That was just a part of life. Sharah rolled over and nestled into her pillow. She was just overthinking this. They were Fighters Guild. When push came to shove, they'd always watch each other's backs.

XXX

_Four years earlier:_

_Her first contract out of Fighters Guild training in Anvil was at the Skingrad guildhall. Azzan, the guildhead of Anvil, encouraged her to indulge her Ra Gada urge rather than fight it. Apparently he'd had his own share of it in his youth. So Sharah packed up and resolved to wander between the Fighters guildhalls, all over Cyrodiil, until she was sick to death of the travel. Whenever that finally happened, anyway. The Skingrad guild head, Ah-Malz sent her out to investigate some strangers for a local vintner. They'd been seen in her vineyard late at night but the woman was prudent enough to ask that someone else look into it. Ah-Malz figured it was bandits or competitors, so he assigned the task to her as Sharah's first contract._

_Sharah wasn't really sure what she was supposed to do when the dark figures finally appeared. She spent too long wondering after she saw them. Long enough for them to see her. Sharah felt in her gut that something was wrong when they traded a few words and then spread between the rows before coming toward her. When they got close enough to really see she stepped back: gaunt faces, pale skin, hungry eyes, and when one of them smiled she saw pointed canines. Sharah turned and bolted, the vampires close on her heels._

_She ran, not even daring to look back lest the motion slow her down. They rushed down the rows. On pure instinct, Sharah drew her father's steel shortsword and slashed out, striking one of them that had gotten too close. But the blow wrenched the blade from her hands. Sharah didn't dare stop to retrieve it but ran on, two pair of feet still in pursuit. She was too far out too late at night. There was no one to call to. She was utterly alone. Sharah spotted the outline of a structure against the night and made for it. She could practically feel the breath on the back of her neck. Mere feet in front of the doorway Sharah yanked the bow off her back, the only weapon she had left, and swung it wide catching one of her pursuers across the face before she toppled back into the building. _

_Before she even gained her feet, Sharah had pulled an arrow from her quiver. And when her soles hit the ground she had her shot set on the door. It was an equipment shack. There were some shovels, a pick axe, and a few barrels. But the walls were made of grass strung against a wooden frame. It was flimsy. The only defense it afforded her was being hiding her from sight. Even so, she could feel them outside the entrance waiting for the moment to end her. It wouldn't be long. A straw shack wouldn't hold them for long. Her hands were shaking. Those vampires were going to kill her. It terrified her…and infuriated her. They hunted her? Those men turned bestial? No. She would not die tonight. She refused to let them kill her tonight. If anyone was going to kill tonight, it was going to be her._

_It was a new revelation for her. She wanted to kill them, more than she had wanted to kill anyone ever before. And with that realization something came over her. It was like something cold and dark enshrouded her, spreading across her skin and settling into her body and soul. But this shroud felt like it was simultaneously coming from within and without of her. Her terror was quell in an instant, so was the shaking in her hands. The cold numbed the emotions and Sharah became entirely calm and focused. _

_The world around her looked…different. It was like she was seeing with eyes that had been accustomed to complete darkness, hearing with ears that had only known silence. It was as though she had spent her whole life somewhere that was devoid of all things, and she was now thrust into a world of sights and sounds and sensations. And she found every one to be distinct and crystal clear to her. Every blade of grass, every whisper of the wind, even the footsteps that circled around to the side of the shack. With her heightened sense of the world, Sharah could almost see them though the walls._

_The tip of the arrow drifted as though guided into place by some force beyond her understanding. She felt the arrow settle into the perfect position like into a notch in the air. Then she loosed. The arrow went slicing through the air and vanished into the wall. Sharah was gratified to hear a shriek as the arrow hit a mark. The success of her attack was exhilarating. She drew another and aimed for the second moving target. But she was too eager and this shot did not receive the same care as the previous. The instant it flew from her bow, Sharah knew it wouldn't kill him. There was a grunt from the other side of the wall as the bolt struck its target, but this one proceeded to shuffle about and ultimately scurry away. _

_Sharah drew another bolt and edged toward the entrance. She was not going to drop her guard until she was certain the threat was eliminated. The diminishing shuffles paused. Then there were sounds of a fight in the dark beyond her sight. Sharah froze just inside the doorway, straining to gather what was happening based on the sounds. The struggle ended quickly and was followed by silence. And then, footsteps, coming toward the shack. Her bow strained, but even as it did she felt the shroud of cold and dark begin to fade from her, but it left an absolute and unexplainable assurance that whatever was coming was no threat to her. That didn't mean she was going to let down her guard, even if her hands were starting to shake again. _

_The moment Sharah could discern a figure in the darkness, she set her arrow point toward it, "Stop right there, or I swear I'll put an arrow in your knee." There was a dry chuckle but the figure stopped and raised its hands in compliance. Sharah eased forward and out the door before the clouds released their grip and permitted the light of the moons to shine. They illuminated a Breton man, dressed in dark clothing with a wicked looking blade that still bore evidence of its most recent kill. Her eyes darted back behind him and saw a pile of dust that could be vampire remains. _

_But she kept her bolt trained on him, "Who are you?"_

_He smiled, "Merely a passerby. I noticed you were in danger and thought it prudent to intervene. A 'thank you' might be in order at this point." _

_Sara kept her expression hard, "Thank you. Now who are you?" _

_He accepted that she would not be deterred, sheathed his sword and gave a flourished bow, "Vicente Valtieri, at you service." The last of her strangely defined senses flickered back to normal and Sharah was finally forced to relax her bow. He didn't look like a bandit or a marauder. In fact, he looked like some noble. She chanced a quick glance back toward the side of the shack where there lay a pile of dust similar to the pile that lay behind Vicente Valtieri. That left just one more vampire unaccounted for. Vicente Valtieri alleviated her fears, "The other is down the rows a bit. I believe you dropped this." He pulled her father's blade from somewhere and offered it to her. _

_Sharah couldn't help but sigh with relief, "Thank you." _

_The man watched as she took it from him and secured her weapons, "If I may ask, what is a young lady doing in a vineyard late at night, courting vampires?" _

_She replied, "I wasn't expecting them, per say. I'm on a contract for the Fighters Guild." _

"_Ah," he said, as though that explained everything._

_She looked at him closer. He sounded like a noble. But then… "While I appreciate the help, what are _you_ doing out here?"_

"_I am returning from a visit to an old friend. But, I find myself at a disadvantage. I have introduced myself, but have yet to learn your name." He spoke like someone of refinement, but Sharah was naturally suspicious of those with silver tongues. _

"_Sharah," she said flatly._

_Vicente Valtieri took her hand and kissed it gently before she could react, "A pleasure, my lady. May I offer myself as an escort back to town?" _

_Sharah plucked her hand from his grasp, "No, thank you. I can manage just fine on my own now." _

_He bowed again, and stepped aside to allow her passage to the road._ _Sharah took only one last glance at him and then trotted off, finding his level of courtesy more uncomfortable than flattering. And his hand had been oddly cold for the temperature out tonight. Sharah tried not to let it bother her. Her part in the contract was over and, Ra Gada urge or not, she would be glad to be back within city walls tonight._

_XXX_

_Vicente didn't normally involve himself in the affairs of other vampires, aside from his occasional rendezvous with the Count whom he found to echo his own desire to control the hunger. It was while leaving one such meeting that Vicente scented others of his kind on the hunt nearby. Knowing Janus's attitudes toward his…territory, as he put it, Vicente took it upon himself to remove them as a favor to his comrade. And after Janus had supplied insightful conversation and fresh blood to sate him, it was the least he could do really._

_Vicente was not surprised to find that their prey was a young woman whom they had caught alone in the vineyard. She had no chance. Even when she managed to deal a blow to one of her attackers, Vicente was quite certain she would not survive. He followed after the pursuit, snapping the neck of the fallen vampire as he passed and taking the sword as an afterthought. The girl had been cornered in some sort of hut. Then she had impressed him. Right through the shack wall, without any means of seeing her target, the girl had not only hit one of her stalkers but placed an arrow directly through his eyes socket. Such a strike was lethal in virtually all cases, even to a vampire._

_A second strike to her attackers convinced the last of them that this prey was not worth the trouble. He attempted to flee, directly into Vicente's path. He was a slave to his thirst, little more than an animal at this point. Vicente was older, stronger, and wiser, and therefore made quick work of him. His recent feeding hid his nature from the girl. And while her strike had likely been chance, the intent was clear enough. And it was her potential for brutality that caught his interest; something in her eyes that told him she was a killer in the making. But not yet. Perhaps, when that potential was realized she would be a suitable candidate for recruitment. Sharah of the Fighters Guild. Someone to keep an eye on in the future. The Dark Brotherhood was always looking for new members._

**Yes, the story description promises Lucien Lachance. He's coming, don't worry. Just a little...slow on the uptake. We'll get there soon. Very soon...oh yeah.**


	5. Shadow of the Gray Fox

**Ok, while we're waiting for the Dark Brotherhood to get their stuff in order, let's welcome to the stage another reclusive character of the Cyrodiilic underworld, from...where ever he's been all this time. HEY GRAY! Quit messing with your make-up, no one's gonna see it!**

**Many thanks to Bethesda, couldn't have done this without you.**

**And...ACTION!**

Sharah didn't wake until well after sunrise. She could have waited an extra day to enjoy Cheydinhal a little. But a contract wasn't done until it had been reported, and she disliked leaving anything unfinished. So Sharah was on the road before high noon. The Valus Mountains were dusted with snow, the wind brought a chill down the slopes and into the forest that raised goose-bumps on her skin. Sometime in the afternoon, after she'd lost sight of Cheydinhal, Sharah paused off the road to eat. While feeding the last half her apple to her gelding, she thought again about naming him. It was kind of impersonal calling him 'my chestnut horse'. Maybe…Acorn. Or Tawny. No, that still sounded like a characterization by color.

She ran through a few more names while the horse licked the last of the juices from her palm when behind her, a thief stepped from the brush. The thief, in fact. The gray cloth cowl that concealed his entire face identified him to the world. The Gray Fox, the most notorious thief and criminal in all of Cyrodiil, moved soundlessly across the grass toward her back. Sharah caught movement out of the corner of her eye. In an instant, she leapt away and whipped Chillrend from its sheath, frightening her horse back a few steps in the process.

Sharah saw exactly who the prowler was, and glared at him, "Dammit, Gray! I told you! You have to make some noise around me, or I'm liable to take your head off."

The Gray Fox bowed apologetically and replied, "Forgive me. But I need your help."

Sharah growled under her breath and shoved Chillrend back into its sheath, "I'm on a contract for the Fighters Guild. We talked about this."

He assured her, "It won't take more than a day." She sighed and cast a longing glance down the road. The Gray Fox saw and resorted to pleading, "Please, I need my shadow."

Sharah looked back and eyed him, looking for further explanation before committing herself to another whirlwind adventure, "Is this just another test of skill, or curse related?"

Sharah could have sworn he was surprised and relieved when she asked, "Both. There's something I need, but I cannot retrieve it myself. I need you to get it for me. But it will not be an easy thing."

She sighed, "And you swear this won't take long."

The Gray Fox nodded, "Do you have your cowl?"

She said, "I always have it."

"Then let's go. I'll explain on the way." He turned and vanished back into the foliage only to reappear leading a gray mare. Then the two of them mounted and set off northward toward the Valus Mountain range. Sharah hadn't seen the Gray Fox in a couple months, since she'd received the summons from Oreyn while in Skingrad. The Fox had understood her wanting to return to public life. She had, after all, served as his apprentice for the previous few months. Even Sharah was surprised when he first approached her with the offer.

XXX

_Sharah stretched out in a bed four times the size of any other she had slept in, located in the manor's master bedroom. With all the repairs and the place properly furnished for the first time in decades, Benirus Manor was starting to feel like a home. Her Fighters guildmates helped her move furniture from the basement and set it up around the house. They'd gotten their pick of the manor's store of wine as a reward and Sharah went to bed quite happy with the progress she'd made settling in. Especially given all the trouble she'd had to go through to get it in the first place. Namely the previous tenant who had entombed himself in the basement and turned himself into a lich. And she thought regular undead were bad. Lorgren Benirus had turned undead intentionally, and had an attitude about it. But she'd bested him in the end. Although she'd been forced to resort to using Umbra to do the task. The soul of the blade didn't fight her for control afterwards, perhaps because this was the first meal she'd permitted it since taking the sword into her possession._

_And there was more to her victory than just gaining proper possession of the house. Lorgren Benirus's defeat broke the curse that had been on the place since his…death, and released all the poor spirits he'd enslaved to defend it and him. But his spell left the house with a certain awareness. And with a single drop of blood fallen to the floor from her wound, that awareness answered to her. It was odd, being blood bound to a house. But whatever power there was in the walls had a special connection to her now. Sharah knew that the manor's awareness would resist the natural wear and weathering. Hell, in the few days she'd been here, the layer of dust that had been on every horizontal surface found its way out through windows and under doors without her having to do any sweeping. It was odd to think the house could care for itself to some degree, but it was something she would benefit from. Less housework for one thing, some security benefits for another, and sole access to the concealed room deep in the basement that answered only to her touch._

_Sharah stretched and curled up into the mass of pillows. And she'd finally seen Captain Lex in town. About time. Her business with Benirus Manor had been an excuse to wait around for him to show up. After all the effort she put into getting him reassigned to Captain of the Anvil city guard, it felt good to see her work rewarded. He didn't even know what a favor she'd done him. At that unprecedented mass Thieves Guild meeting, they rest of them had been leaning toward disgracing him to the point of having him cast from grace entirely so he wouldn't be able to cause the guild any more trouble. She wouldn't hear of it and insisted she be allowed to deal with him. It had taken some time, five hundred gold of her own money, and a proper heist into the Legion compound to seal a forged recommendation with the commander's seal. It felt like the first real sneaky thing she'd done for the guild, Hrormir's Icestaff aside. _

_But he was here, the guild would leave him alone, and Captain Hieronymus Lex was settling in nicely. Away from where his reputation for over-exuberant Gray Fox hunting in the Imperial City, he could really shine. And he deserved it. Lex was a good man, he deserved to have a chance at some proper respect for his unwavering loyalty. And the best thing, by far, was that no one, not even the Captain, had any idea that she'd been involved in the whole thing. Her reputation in the public eye was maintained, her reputation in the underworld had probably received a boost for her success, and while she'd waited to see her efforts bear fruit, Sharah'd obtained a unique manor to serve her when she finally stopped adventuring. Certainly better than retiring to a shack on the Waterfront._

_Her musings were cut off by an urging from the manor. However it managed it, the manor communicated with her: 'Intruder'. Sharah reached beneath the pillows on instinct, and bit down on a curse. No dagger. She was getting complacent. Before she could rise, Sharah heard the sound of her balcony doorknob turning. He was coming into her bedroom from the balcony. Big mistake on his part. Sharah eased into a ready position and held still. The door opened and the intruder entered. She breathed evenly, waiting, listening. Sharah felt more than heard him approach her bedside. Every nerve tingled as the adrenaline started rushing through her system. Then, at the proper instant, Sharah threw back the covers and launched out of bed at her intruder. He was taken utterly by surprise and they went toppling to the ground. Sharah closed her hand around his collar, but somehow he slipped from her grasp. When she gained her feet it was between him and the balcony door._

_The intruder took the next option and bolted for her bedroom door. Sharah sprinted after. He was fast, but she knew the house. While he made for the stairs, she headed for her office and tossed herself over the rail, dropping down into the sitting room and fairly falling on top of him as the intruder crossed the room. Again, she laid hands on him, and again he slipped out of her hold. But this time, when they came to their feet, he didn't run. Sharah got her first good look at the man and any demand for his identification seemed superfluous. Who else wore that distinctive gray cowl to hide his face? The Gray Fox stood before her._

_The Gray Fox crossed his arms, clearly at ease, "You _are_ good. I don't think anyone's caught me trespassing in…ten years." _

_Sharah didn't drop her guard. This was unexpected. She knew the Thieves Guild called him their Guildmaster, owed him their loyalty and so forth. But in the back of her mind, Sharah always doubted his existence. Given all the rumors and talk that circulated around about him, between Thieves guild members and ordinary citizens, it couldn't all be true. He couldn't be more than a myth. She rethought that assumption now, given he was a myth currently stealing into her house. _

_The Gray Fox regarded her, "It might be considered polite to begin with introductions." _

_Sharah growled, "If you knocked on the front door maybe. You do know I'm a member of the Thieves Guild, right?" _

_He nodded, "Of course." _

"_Then what are you doing breaking into my house?" Didn't he have to follow guild rules too? _

_The Gray Fox drew a good sized pouch from his satchel. It jangled pleasantly with coin and had to hold at least a thousand pieces. "Your payment. For taking care of Lex. I thought I'd deliver it myself to show my appreciation. Although, I suppose the note is unnecessary at this point." He tore a bit of parchment from the leather thong and offered her the bag. _

_Sharah didn't move to take it, "I didn't agree to any payment. I don't need money from the guild." _

"_So I've heard," the Gray Fox remarked. Seeing her face, he tried a different approach, "Then consider this a reimbursement for what you paid the forger, with interest and my regards." He dropped the pouch on a nearby table, clearly with no intention of doing anything but leaving the gold where it was._

_Sharah still watched him with understandable suspicion, "Thanks. But I could just as easily have gotten it from Armand next time I was in the Imperial City. Why bring it yourself?" _

_The Gray Fox replied, "I thought it time we met face to face." _

_Sharah stood from her ready battle stance, "Why?" _

_The Gray Fox's tone took on a mock of astonishment, "Is it so strange for me to wish acquaintance with a master thief?" _

_Sharah replied, "I'm not a master thief." _

_He smiled roguishly, "Not yet, perhaps." Sharah tried to measure what he was implying, but with that cowl on it was hard to tell much of anything from his facial expression. He continued, "You've been making some waves in the underworld. Word was bound to reach me eventually of your accomplishments. Framing Myvryna Arano, Hrormir's Icestaff, your dealings with Captain Lex without him even suspecting a thing. Even if you don't think yourself a proper thief, that is quite a resume. I was especially impressed with the way you handled yourself in that meeting. I was going to recommend transferring Lex myself, but you beat me to it. And after that I thought I'd just sit back and let you work." _

_Sharah started, "You were there?" _

_He nodded, "In fact, I was sitting right next to you." Sharah tried to remember back to the day in question. She had been talking with someone before the meeting. The only one she could remember was the man who eventually forged Lex's recommendation. But she couldn't remember anyone else. Certainly she couldn't remember anyone who could have been the Gray Fox. He seemed unconcerned with her confusion, "Let's start properly, shall we? I am the Gray Fox, master thief." He gave an elegant bow, indicative of some gentleman thief. _

_Sharah inclined her head a bit stiffly, "Sharah the Wolf. Nice to meet you."_

_He stood straight and looked her over from head to toe, "For not being a true thief, you are remarkably good at it. But you could be better." _

_Sharah crossed her arms, "Thank you. I'll try to work on that." _

"_I would offer my services in that regard," the Gray Fox said. _

_Her eyebrow rose, "Tutoring from the Gray Fox himself? I must have made quite an impression." _

_He replied, "Actually, I was considering more of an apprenticeship." _

_She snorted, "Apprenticed to a thief? No. I'm not interested. Whatever you've heard, thievery is a hobby for me. And only when the need arises. I prize my public reputation too much to chance getting caught in league with you." _

_He raised his hands to hold her off, "Please. Just hear me out. I'm looking into something and I know I'll need assistance. But I'll need the best." _

"_And you come to me?" she asked. _

_The Gray Fox replied, "Yes. But you're not quite good enough. Not yet. But you will be. With all I can teach you, you could be the greatest thief in Cyrodiil. Perhaps all Tamriel." _

_Sharah knew flattery when she heard it, "Like I said. I prefer my public image to being a master thief." _

"_And I respect that. Believe me. But what if I could ensure that you would never be caught?" _

_Sharah eyed him, "Everyone gets caught. Have you read 'Purloined Shadows'? Apprenticing to a master thief is not customarily beneficial to the apprentice." The Gray Fox actually groaned in frustration and rubbed furiously at his cowl. Sharah stood straighter, "Look. I'm honored you'd think of me. But the fact remains: I'm not interested. I'm sure any number of folks would be more than happy to become your apprentice. I'm just not one of them. Try Methredhel. She idolizes you." Sharah headed for the stairs. He'd see himself out. _

_The Gray Fox leapt around her to cut her off on the stair and dropped to a knee in an unexpected display of humility, "Please. Just…let me tell you a story. And if, after you've heard it, you still are not interested, then you will never hear from me again. I swear it."_

XXX

She had listened, and afterward she couldn't refuse his request. The story was ripe with tragedy and danger, daedra and curses. It was too involved to make up. He had gifted her with a black mask to hide her face while she was with him. After that night, and aside from the sporadic appearance and quick contract with the Fighters Guild, Sharah pretty much disappeared from public life. The Gray Fox was as good as his word. He taught her every trick he knew. If her steps had been quiet before they were utterly silent now. She had to consciously stomp about while in the guildhalls to avoid startling her guildmates. She garbed herself in dark clothing to fit with her mask, becoming a shadow against the wall whenever she was on the prowl. She and the Gray Fox stole from every dangerous or heavily guarded location in Cyrodiil, every castle, every guarded facility, even if it was nothing more than a quill or a fork. After all, for their purposes, profit was not the issue. Testing and improving their skills was.

And it wasn't too long before word started to circulate around the underworld that the Gray Fox had a shadow. And Shadow became the name by which she was known. Sharah couldn't deny that it was fitting given the Gray Fox and his new shadow were always seen together, if they were seen at all. Indeed, they were very rarely apart. And, true to his word, no one, not even in the Cyrodiilic underworld, knew her identity. It was like she had two separate lives. The Wolf in the public eye, and the Shadow of the Gray Fox when she donned the mask.

She kept her sense of honor though, refusing to steal anything but a leaf of paper from the bedchamber of Countess Narina Carvain of Bruma. She and the Countess made one of those rare connections between kindred spirits when Sharah had helped the Countess recover a rare Akaviri artifact. The Wolf still wore the ring that the Countess had plucked from her collection as a reward. It was worth more than money for no other reason than that Narina had wanted to share a piece of her passion with her, let alone the enchantment against harmful magic on the ring that had saved Sharah's life on more than one occasion. That friendship meant a great deal to Sharah, and the Gray Fox respected it in turn.

Although, she wasn't the only one to have reservations. Sharah and the Fox wandered the whole of Cyrodiil, stole from every castle, but never returned to Anvil to try their luck there. Perhaps the Gray Fox had some targets he preferred not to test. Sharah's honor wasn't toward all nobility though. She was only too happy to filch the precious family ring of Countess Caro of Leyawiin. Sharah really disliked that racist twit of a woman and could just imagine the look on her face when she woke up to find it missing. Priceless. The life was challenging and exciting, the constant adrenaline rush that someone might come around the corner or look just a bit closer at her hiding place.

But it wasn't the life she really wanted. In the end, the Fighters Guild was her priority. Following the theft of a particular book from Castle Skingrad, Sharah received the summons from Oreyn when she went to check on the guild. After that, she bowed out of her apprenticeship to the Gray Fox. He admitted he had nothing more to teach her, only mentioning that he would miss her company before allowing her to leave. The mask of the Shadow was tucked away into her cuirass, and she'd seen neither hide nor hair of the Gray Fox…until today. Now the two of them rode for another mark as though they'd never parted. Sharah actually had to laugh at how easily she fell back into the life. Maybe there was more thief in her than she cared to admit.

"So, what are we…am I stealing, and from whom?" Sharah asked.

He looked back at her, "A special crystal ball from the Order of the Ancestor Moth."

"What kind of order?" The distinction would determine what she was in store for.

"It's a monastic order," the Fox replied.

Sharah brought her horse to a halt, "We're stealing from a bunch of monks?"

The Fox stopped his own horse before replying, "They are not ordinary monks. They know how to defend themselves. And they're blind." That didn't help the argument.

Sharah blanched, "We're stealing from a bunch of blind monks?!"

"They are not ordinary monks," the Fox insisted, "It's more complicated than that. If we can continue, I'll explain." Sharah tapped her horse's sides and the Fox continued, "The Order of the Ancestor Moths is an ancient one. For whatever reason, they alone are entrusted with the reading of the Elder Scrolls."

Sharah wracked her brain, "Elder Scrolls. Elder Scrolls. They're in the Imperial Palace, right?"

The Fox nodded, "In the Imperial Library. The scrolls are…unique. To read them at all is to trade knowledge for sight. Which is why these Moth Priests are blind. And when the priests are completely blind, they retire to the monastery that we are going to now. But that does not mean they are defenseless. They study some ancient method of hand to hand combat. That, and they have some ordinary monks that guard them and tend to their needs. And those monks are no pushovers either."

"Ok, so…you're sending me in to steal a crystal ball from them?" Sharah asked.

The Fox replied, "Savilla's stone. It is a special crystal ball. I don't know exactly how, but it doesn't show possibilities of the future like other crystal balls. It only shows certainties. It disregards all wards, protections, and defenses as well. And for what I'm planning…I need that crystal ball to make any more plans."

Sharah said, "You said this had to do with lifting your cure."

His eyes sparkled, "I've found a way. It's going to work. There's no way it won't. But…there's a great deal between here and there. The first step, though, is that stone."

"And why can't you get it? Just asking," she said.

The Fox frowned, as though he were embarrassed to admit the answer, "The moths don't like me."

She shrugged, "You're stealing from them. Why would they?"

The Fox looked at her, "Not the Moth Priests. The actual moths don't like me. The little flying creatures that infest the monastery. I get anywhere near and they…swarm me. I don't know why." Sharah was speechless for a moment, and then tried unsuccessfully to hide a burst of giggles in her hands. The Gray Fox glared at her, "It's not funny. And they're like guard dogs. Whenever they swarm the priests' caretakers come running moments later. I think it's my curse that sets them off."

Sharah couldn't resist, "You mean it bugs the bugs?" He shot her another venomous glare which just set her off convulsing with laughter while bent over her pommel. He waited until she had finally settled down and wiped her eyes. Then she asked, "Is it the curse or the cowl? If it's the cowl, maybe you could go in as your alter ego…"

"I tried that. It's the curse itself. That's why you have to go in for me."

Sharah was struck by a thought, "Gray, if it's the daedric quality of the curse then I don't think that's gonna work. I carry several daedric artifacts on me at all times. I probably reek of the daedric influence."

The Fox looked curiously at her. He'd seen her use one or two but hadn't realized she had more. The Fox resisted asking which other artifacts she carried or how she'd gotten them, "I think it's this curse specifically. There are three caretakers I've seen wandering around. I think the blind Moth Priests dwell somewhere underground, but I don't know where or how to reach them. I could never get close enough to find out. So you'll have to do it. But I doubt they would keep the stone anywhere above ground. It's somewhere down there with the blind Priests. And keep in mind, their other senses will probably be heightened after being blinded. You'll need to be at your best to stay undetected."

"Noted," Sharah replied.

The two of them rode up into the foothills and into the steeper slopes of the Valus Mountains. They reached a fork in the road, the right of which led upward into a pocket between steep slopes. The Gray Fox said, "It's up that way. It would be better if I stayed away. Do you need any time to prepare?"

Sharah shook her head, "No. In fact, I'd say I'm garbed and prepared perfectly right now. Who'd expect an adventurer to come thieving. Anything else I should know about them?"

The Gray Fox replied, "Savilla's Stone is a closely kept secret. Not even the Emperor knows they have it. If he did, it would have been destroyed or placed under lock and key in the palace. They won't give it up lightly. Be careful."

She smiled, "I always am," and urged her horse up the road.

The Gray Fox stayed watching as Sharah vanished between the slopes, and under his breath he whispered, "Shadow hide you."

XXX

As she trotted up, Sharah allowed the chill of the mountain air to affect her. Normally she focused on blocking out any unpleasant elemental issues when she traveled, be it wind, rain, humidity, or snow. But that sort of strength wouldn't suit her here. What monastic order would turn away a cold traveler wandering the Valus Mountain in early spring? The monastery was well up the road, tucked into the mountains. The perfect isolated location for someone to retire in peace. Sharah let her horse pick up a canter when he saw the buildings. He knew there was somewhere warm waiting for him up ahead. In truth she wanted to make sure she got her horse settled into a shelter quickly. The evening was fast approaching and night in the mountains this time of year bordered on unbearable.

She rode onto the monastery grounds just as the monks were preparing to retire inside themselves. As she predicted, they welcomed her. Sharah was honestly grateful and happily settled her chestnut in the barn. The monks opened their home to her as well, offering her one of the empty beds in which to spend the night. For all intensive purpose, it was naught but a humble monastery. They didn't even have a priory house, just a single stone building where they ate and slept. She had no complaints, it was warm and sheltered, but there was no sign of any hidden doors or blind priests. And considering she was a wanderer and a stranger to them, there was no good reason for her to ask. Sharah fell asleep and intended to rise and wander the grounds in the morning.

When she awoke, the monks were already gone. Sharah rose, washed her face in the basin and garbed herself before going outside. The first thing she noticed was that the air was now alive with moths. She must have arrived late enough that they had already taken shelter for the night. Sharah hesitated on the house step, wondering if they came at anyone with ill intent. But the moths paid her no mind, fluttering about as normal. Well, whatever set them off about the Fox, they didn't seem to be bothered by her. So Sharah took stock of the area. Again, no sign of the monks on the grounds or in the barn, although her horse had already been fed and watered. So she went to check the chapel. Sharah opened the door to find the three caretakers in prayer before the altar. She stepped back outside and closed the door respectfully behind her. She didn't see much point in waiting around inside while they finished. It would be more useful to search the grounds while the monks were busy praying.

The house and barn were clear. There was a well and a mausoleum sort of building in the mountain's face, but the door to that was locked. The blind priests might be in there, or possibly there was a trapdoor in the chapel. The smart move was to convince one of the monks to let her into the mausoleum. She could pick the lock easily enough, but there was a chance that the blind priests were on the other side of the door, at which point she'd loose her cover if she went breaking in. So Sharah settled down on a step to wait for the monks to finish their prayers. She could wait inside, but she wasn't very spiritual and she found the open air and sky more comforting.

Sharah closed her eyes and started her own method of meditation, namely the review of battle techniques. Hand to hand, sword, shield, stances…She heard a whisper on the air. Sharah's eyes open and she came partway to her feet, looking around, expecting to see the monks. But they hadn't come out yet. Hm, probably just her imagination. Sharah settled back down on the step and went back to her thoughts. Archery, spells, bones easiest to break, nerves easiest to hit, tendons closest to the skin…Another whisper, this time distinctly closer. Sharah looked around and strained her ears. The monks weren't speaking inside the chapel, and she saw nothing but moths around her.

This time, when she closed her eyes and Sharah let her mind go entirely blank, listening. The whispering came back, like a breath in the wind. Sharah strained to hear it, not opening her eyes or moving an inch. It grew just a bit louder, and was joined by others. Maybe a dozen whispers, loud enough to hear but too quiet to make out the words. Sharah sat and listened intently. Something dropped onto her head and she snapped like a taut bowstring. With a surge of adrenaline her hand darting up and snatched at the spot. Sharah pulled away the offender in a cage of fingers to find that she had imprisoned a rather large moth that had fluttered into her hair.

Sharah looked down at it and laughed off her alarm, saying absently, "You know, little one, it's not a really a good idea to go landing on people like that. I could have squished you."

She opened her fingers, but the moth seemed quite content to sit in her palm. She smiled. Probably warmer than sitting on a rock. She closed her eyes again, making sure to leave her new companion be. The whispers returned, quicker this time. As Sharah listened she realized they weren't whispers but singing. But from where? When a weight plopped onto her sleeve, Sharah didn't jump. The flutter of wings told her exactly what it was. But…one of the whispered songs was louder now. Sharah cocked her head and bent an ear to the weight on her bisep. Beneath the brief flutter of wings was a song. A song on the moth?

Sharah opened her eyes to be sure. It was harder to clear one's mind when the eyes were open, but the song was still there. She lifted the moth in her palm to her other ear. Another song, a little different than the one from the moth on her shoulder, but the moths were…singing? No, but they had a whispered song around them. Like they were carrying it. And she wasn't exactly hearing it with her ears either. She was listening with her…mind? Was that possible? Sharah wasn't even sure how she was doing it either, only that she was.

So she sat, too astounded by what was happening to be afraid or wonder why, and listened with her mind. The songs persisted. More of them, a chorus, exuding the most beautiful music she'd ever heard. Sharah tried to echo a few, not humming aloud but letting the melodies sound in her mind like the songs themselves seemed to. More weights dropped onto her, but she was too focused on what she was doing. Could she communicate with them? Ask the about the blind priests? Or the stone? Sharah didn't know how. The songs continued, uninterrupted, melodies scattered across the air and the monastery grounds, some of them echoing. Echoing? Yes, echoing. Many of them. Could a sound echo in your head? And if they did, where were they echoing from?

Sharah snapped out of her trance, sending no less than a dozen moths fluttering into the air when she broke out of the mental symphony. The moth in her hand didn't flutter off entirely, but flew a bit and then came back down to rest on her shoulder. She couldn't hear the song anymore because she wasn't listening anymore. Sharah had other thoughts on her mind than that. If sounds of the mind were like normal sounds, then there was only one place that would echo like she'd heard.

Sharah stood up and walked over to the well where a cloud of moths were fluttering. Experimentally, she took a rock and dropped it down into darkness. From the bottom there came a clack. Sharah smiled. Not a well at all, a passage downward. She tested the rope that hung above and found it sturdy. She took a firm hold and looked at her shoulder experimentally, "Do I get to go down there?" The moth's wings fluttered once but otherwise she got no response. Sharah shrugged, "I'll take that as a 'yes'." Then she eased over the side and lowered herself down into the dark.

XXX

The Gray Fox paced incessantly off the road near the fork, in a camp hidden behind rocks and trees. When he heard hoof beats approaching he looked to the road and then waved when he recognized the rider. Sharah guided her chestnut around the barrier and into the small camp where the Gray Fox had set to wait. He looked expectant, "Did you get it?"

Sharah dropped out of the saddle and reached into one of the bags thereon. From it, she pulled a misshapen globe that had a purple glow bound in the glass, "And I didn't even need to use my mask."

"Capital!" he exclaimed, and reached for it.

Sharah pulled the stone back and out of his reach. The Gray Fox's face twisted. Sharah said, "Gray, we need to talk first. You said this was a key to any further plans for relieving you of your curse. I'd like to know what those plans are if I'm to stay involved."

The Gray Fox seemed just about ready to snatch at the stone she held. It took a few deep breaths before he sat down on a rock and motioned for her to join him. Sharah kept Savilla's Stone in her hand and crossed her legs on the ground in front of him. "The Cowl of Nocturnal…my cowl, erases my identity from all knowledge. Memories of my face or my name get clouded. History and records are warped so that it was like I never existed. My own wife and children don't even know me without the cowl."

Sharah nodded, "I know. You've told me all of this before."

He looked up, vaguely surprised, "Oh…I remember. I just…didn't think you would." Sharah expected him to elaborate but the Fox just continued on, "For most of the ten years I've had this cowl, I've been searching for a way to remove its curse. A spell, an enchantment. Anything. I even found the Shrine to Nocturnal in southern Cyrodiil. I spent days there, begging the daedra to take back her cowl. But she never answered. I finally got fed up and left it there on her shrine, and tried to go back home. But the curse stayed. The cowl was waiting when I finally went back. The curse is mine until I die and another puts it on. But…I suppose I've told you all that before, too."

"Most of it. Not the part about Nocturnal's shrine, though. And there's never been anyone to help you?" Sharah asked.

He looked up, "No one can remember. I'll go to them, talk about the curse, ask for help, and a week later they didn't even remember having the conversation. The curse refutes any attempts to gain outside assistance in lifting the curse. I'm afraid that the more I tell you, the more likely it will be that the curse will wipe your mind of everything."

Sharah sat back, "Is that why you're always repeating yourself? Because you don't know what I remember and what I don't?"

He nodded, "Although…you remember more than anyone else. When I saw you on the road, I expected you'd maybe remember that we worked together at some point. Normally, after a week apart, people forget most of what happened between me and them. After a few months, I thought you'd barely remember me. But you do. And I can't tell you how happy I am for that. I've been isolated for so long…" Sharah thought he was about to break down and cry. She reached out and gripped his forearm, lending what support she could. The Fox returned the gesture, and Sharah had the feeling it was all that kept him grounded in that moment.

She whispered, "It's alright." Sharah detached herself and wrapped his hands around Savilla's stone. "Tell me only what I need to know to help you. That's fine. But, be honest with me, do you think this plan of yours will work?"

She saw his knuckles turn white on the surface of the stone, "I'm tampering with something beyond magic and beyond Daedra. It may cost me…everything I have left. But…yes. I think it's my best chance."

She said, "Then I'm with you. So what's the next step?"

The Gray Fox turned Savilla's Stone in his hand, "I need some time with this. It will show me more as times goes by. And I have some things I need to look into. Some things I need to learn. But…I don't need you for any of it. At least, not yet. You should go back to your guild."

"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"

The Fox chuckled, "I've spent most of the last ten years alone. A few more weeks won't be too bad by comparison. And you won't be too hard to find when I do."

Sharah replied, "I'll try to make myself as conspicuous as possible." She stood up, but still couldn't help but be concerned about him, given that he'd opened up to her about how difficult his curse had been to bear, "You're sure you don't want me to stay."

The Gray Fox looked up at her having recovered some of his thief's zeal, "The Fighters Guild is like your family. You told me that. And back in Skingrad, when you got that summons, you chose them over petty thievery. An honorable choice. And if I'd been strong enough to make that choice ten years ago, I wouldn't be cursed now. So I want you to go back to them. I can manage on my own for a while longer."

Sharah smiled, "Thank, Gray. Care to ride down the mountain with me?"

He nodded, "Absolutely, my friend."

As they went, the two of them swapped stories about their exploits together. Sharah knew he needed the companionship and shared experiences more than anything else right now. After all, master thief or not, he was still just a man and he had all the flaws and weaknesses that came along with it.

XXX

When she was once again alone on the road, Sharah turned her mind back to before the Fox had snuck up on her: what should she name her horse? She'd already decided against colors. But maybe she could name him for some other qualities. Hardy? Loyal? She could warp one of those into a name. Or maybe she could try doing a play on words with her nickname. Sharah the Wolf, and her faithful steed…Hm…Ok, back to his qualities. Maybe, Stomper for how he occasionally fought with his hooves. Or maybe…Troll!

A troll came sprinting out of the undergrowth and Sharah yanked Chillrend from its sheath. Trolls were aggressive, perfectly camouflaged to hide in the undergrowth and deathly fast with jaws like a slaughterfish and paws that struck hard with claws like knives on the end of each finger. Just another in a long list of wild creatures she could do without. It rushed out of the forest and came at Sharah and her horse. Sharah swung at it, but missed as her mount danced away. The troll took a flying leap and toppled both of them to the ground. She rolled away and to her feet, but not before the troll had dealt several blows to its chosen prey. Her horse's scream drove Sharah to act. The woman leapt forward with a scream of her own and hacked at the beast with Chillrend clutched in both hands. The troll roared at her, protected to a point by the layers of fat around its body. But Sharah was fuming now and threw herself into the fight until her enemy lay dead.

Sharah ran back to her horse. He lay with great gashes in his neck. More than Sharah could heal, even if she did know how to cast a convalescence spell. He whinnied pathetically. Damn! Damn, damn, damn! Why did this have to happen now? He'd lasted so long, and now a rabid troll? She saw the whites of his eyes as her horse struggled to breath. It wouldn't be long now. But she couldn't watch him suffer. Sharah took her blade, still wet with the blood of the troll, and drove the point into the chestnut's heart before she could hesitate. Her faithful, nameless steed stopped breathing an instant later.

She sat, finding it hard to breathe for a moment. But…she couldn't just stay here. Sharah forced herself to stand up and remove her things from the saddle. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She wished she could bury him. But there wasn't time. She had to keep going, get to Chorrol, report and all that. In the end, he was just a horse…right? Even if he did chew on the bit in the mornings and splash like a foal in his water bucket. Sharah whipped the tears from her eyes and focused on the road. She'd walk the rest of the way to Chorrol. Buy a new horse when she got there. And try not to feel like an abject failure for letting her horse die and then just leaving him on the road.

Focus. She was the Wolf. She was strong. She didn't get weepy over an animal's death. At least not now. Maybe in an hour. Yeah, maybe she'd cry her eyes out in an hour. But not right now. Right now she walked, like a strong wolf who killed vampires and trolls did. Right now, she'd walk.

**Yeah, Gray's got some problems. Bordering on madness, trust me, I've asked Sheo.**

**I promised you Lucien Lachance in the story description. Next chapter you get him. I hope I've given him long enough to get ready. You wouldn't believe how long it takes him to clean his robes. You'd think black wouldn't show a thing.**

**Review if you like. Or if you want me to be less snarky in these before and after bits. All reviews are appreciated. Just say something. Please?**


	6. Shadows have Eyes and Fish have Teeth

**I know I promised Lucien in this chapter. But he got kind of prissy and demanded a chapter of his own. So he is here, but you won't actually see him. I tried to make up for it with an extra large helping of slaughterfish. Like, **_**really**_** extra large.**

**On to the main event.**

Sharah wasn't even back a week when the next contract came in. Sharah and Cargas were deep in a game of Kingdoms at the time. More to say Sharah was well on her way to getting beaten, again. Cargas had a natural intellect, or had studied strategy, or something, because she maneuvered the board effortlessly and snatched up her opponent's pieces by the handful. Lashana had learned not to challenge the woman and sat in the corner polishing her greaves while Sharah sat across from the gently smirking Cargas, clearly slower to learn the lesson. Sharah was trying to find some way to save her duke when Oreyn bellowed for her from up in the office. She was torn between wanting to see the game through to the end and being glad that she might be spared another defeat at the healer's hands.

Oreyn was sitting at the Guildmaster's desk pouring over papers when Sharah hopped the last of the stairs to the third floor. Oreyn didn't even look up from the desk, "You've got another request. Four convicts escaped from the Bravil prison. Hard cases. The city watch is useless, so a citizen has paid for the guild to track down the criminals. And they asked for you."

Sharah mulled the information around in her mind, "How long ago was the break?"

"A week ago."

"They're probably halfway across Elsweyr by now."

Oreyn said, "Your job is to find them. If they're out of the province, alert the local authorities. If they aren't…well, they're murderers, all of them. If you can't bring them in, use your best judgment."

Sharah didn't even flinch when Oreyn pretty much told her this would be a search and destroy mission. Killing was something she could do. Doubly so for a bunch of murderers who thought they could escape when she was called in. Sharah got what information she could from Oreyn, which really wasn't much, and darted down the stairs to her bunk. She hadn't even fully unpacked since she returned from Cheydinhal. Made repacking all the easier.

Passing through the dining hall she said, "Cargas, I'm afraid Lashana will have to be the one to finish our game."

Lashana started in the corner, "Me? Why me?"

Sharah grinned as she stuffed a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese into her pack, "Because then, when Cargas wins, I can blame it on you." Cargas grinned and Sharah knew that she'd pressure Lashana into finishing the game one way or another, and headed out the door.

She picked up a few supplies from Seed-Neeus's general store and then went out to saddle her new horse, an energetic bay. Four convicts, not just common bandits. She'd have to take precautions. The Odiil brothers were coming up to town, likely to visit their father. Rallus spotted her and broke away from his brother to come toward her, "Hello, Sharah…Are you leaving again?"

She nodded, tightening the girth on her horse when he exhaled, "Yeah. Contract. I'm sorry I haven't made it down for a visit since I got back. I just never got out of town. And here I am heading out again. I'm really not sure when I'll be back from this one. Sorry."

He shook his head, "Don't worry about that. Although…" He paused and stood a bit taller, "Would you return by the middle of next month? By the 16th, for example?"

Sharah double checked her bags, "Hm…maybe. But I can't make any promises. Why?"

Rallus Odiil cleared his throat, "Well, next month is Sun's Dawn. And the 16th is Heart's day. Emfrid usually hosts a celebration at her inn. And I wondered if I might see you there."

Sharah looped the last of her saddlebags closed, "Not sure. Again, I really don't know how long this will take. It depends on a lot of things." Her foot found the stirrup and Sharah pulled herself up into the saddle, "If I'm back by the 16th I'm sure I'll see you at the Grey Mare. But I make no promises."

Rallus stepped out of her way, "I understand. Take care of yourself." Sharah gave him a nod and dug her heels into the horse's sides, sending him galloping down the Black Road toward another daring contract.

XXX

The guards at the Bravil prison were no help at all. Not only did they not know how the convicts escaped, but they couldn't even supply Sharah with their names or stats either. Sharah left the prison as ignorant of the situation as when she entered. In fact, if she didn't know any better, she might have thought that the jailors were purposefully sweeping the whole situation under the rug. But Sharah didn't want to think about city guards shirking their duties. She'd be tempted to call them out on it, and that would be unseemly. After all, the client on this contract was a concerned citizen not a member of the watch, so they weren't her priority.

Sharah crossed the bridge from the castle to the north district. Bravil was placed beautifully, practically in the Niben Bay. The water not only afforded the city a natural mote, but two channels that divided the city into the castle, north and south districts. It could have been a beautiful city on the water. But the only things built of stone were the walls, the chapel and the castle. Everything else was built of unfinished wood, which weathered easily beside the large body of water, and in such a style that the entire city looked like an overgrown shanty town. It gave the city a bad name in general.

And the reputation didn't benefit from the sort of trade the city's location attracted. Bravil's placement on the water made it ideal for trade on the water…of all sorts. So the transport of silk and produce flourished right alongside the smuggling of skooma, the dealers of which favored the south district in which to do their business. They'd slipping in through the canals in the dead of night, moving their product into the city and doing their business before the light of the following day. And they never got caught, partly because the count's son was a user, and partly because the count himself was a snobbish idiot.

So smuggling and all sorts of underhanded deeds flourished in the smaller south district. Sharah couldn't complain. Plenty of those underhanded deeds were organized and arranged by members of the Thieves Guild, who seemed to have their hands in everything. It meant there was some kind of control to the process. It also meant that the south district was a wealth of information. She could spend all of tomorrow asking around town for a single honest citizen who was both informed and not afraid to speak up regarding the escapees. Or she could go to the south district, and call on more unofficial contacts that her other Fighters guildmates did not have at their disposal. Thieves were, by nature, inquisitive and distrustful. They, more than anyone, would be aware of the escape. There was one in particular that Sharah intended to question.

XXX

Luciana Galena was a chronic flirt and had the uncanny ability to remember everything she heard. She worked at the Lonely Suitor Lodge in the south district mainly as a means of promoting her personal business. And given the variety of her clientele, she was the most likely to know the information Sharah needed. Sharah entered the Lodge after dark, during happy hour it seemed, when the place was bustling with the usual range of customers. Luciana was sauntering between the tables casting a flirtatious wink here and a teasing smile there. Sharah envied the woman's ability to hypnotize most people just by walking by. But tonight, Sharah was not most people. Tonight she was The Wolf on a hunt.

Sharah caught Luciana's eye and motioned toward one of the booths in the back, which were built for private meetings as ideally as the soundproof rooms were built upstairs for…Luciana's other source of income. The woman caught her drift and Sharah went to sit down. She was joined not long after. Luciana came sauntering up with two mugs in hand. She set them down and drew the curtain with a seductive smile, "So, is this business or pleasure?"

Normally Sharah would have blushed. Luciana wasn't shy about bedding anyone regardless of race, gender or profession. Sharah half thought Luciana enjoyed seeing her turn scarlet when she tried to seduce her. But, again, this was not a normal night. "Business," Sharah said, motioning to the seat across the table, "I need some information and I think you're the one to have it."

Luciana pouted with disappointment, but that didn't keep her from sitting down right beside Sharah and draping her legs over her lap. Sharah resisted dumping the woman off or rolling her eyes. She needed Luciana to be in a sharing mood. "What sort of information?"

"You know about the prison break that happened last week."

The seductress twirled a lock of her hair around a finger, "Maybe."

"I need to find them," Sharah said, "And I'm guessing that you would know where they would go and how they would get there."

The finger continued to twirl, "Maybe."

Sharah leaned closer. "Would you tell me, please?" Sharah asked.

Luciana grinned, "Well, since you asked so politely. I think they'd be headed south. And I think they'd head south on a smuggling ship, since the Legion is patrolling the roads with such diligence. But, unfortunately for them, such a ship hasn't arrived yet. They must be so terribly bored hiding out with nothing to do but wait."

Sharah started, "You mean they're still in Bravil? Where?"

Luciana leaned back and looked off, "Well, not in the city. They're in a cave up the Larsius river. Four of them. But you really shouldn't go up there. From what I've heard they're real killing types. A rogue mage, a couple of cut-throat mercenaries, and a former member of the guild until he started killing people before robbing them."

Sharah chuckled, "That's much more information than I got from the jailors. Thank you, Luciana, you've been very helpful."

Luciana wiggled her feet up onto Sharah's thigh, "You don't have to leave yet, you know."

Sharah looked at the woman, "Actually, yes I do. And I mean no offense, but you're just not my type. I'm a traditionalist."

Luciana smiled and rubbed her toes along Sharah's leg suggestively, "Maybe if you gave me an evening, I could change your mind."

Sharah caught the woman's ankle and placed both of her feet firmly on the floor, "No. Thank you, but no. I'm sure you have other clients to see to anyway. Do I owe you anything for your wealth of information?"

Luciana shook her head and sighed, "No. I suppose it's just my pleasure to serve a member of the guild. I'll just find someone else to spend my evening with. I'm sure Nordinor will appreciate me."

Sharah stood up, "I'm sure he will. Thanks again, Luciana."

Sharah pulled back the curtain and walked through the Lodge toward the door, dodging the occasional drunkard on her way out. Sharah headed over the bridge to the north district and toward the gate. She wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. She'd come to Bravil expecting to have to chase the escapees across half the province. And they turned out to have stayed right in the area. Luck was with her tonight. She'd go after them immediately. After all, the city watch probably wouldn't provide much help, and her guildmates weren't much for stealth and were more likely to just slow her down. Better to go it alone, and before that ship got any closer.

Crossing the city plaza, Sharah paused to look at its center piece. The statue of the Lucky Old Lady. There was a local legend that she granted luck to those who asked for it. Sharah wondered if following the tradition would strengthen or negate the streak of good luck that she'd had. Well, it couldn't hurt. After all, she was going up against four convicted criminals, probably murderers, in a hideout they'd been using for the last week and a half. Not to mention they were doubtless on the watch for the ship that would deliver them to safety. And she was doing it alone. Maybe a request for luck wasn't so outlandish.

Sharah stepped up to the platform before the Lucky Old Lady. How many people had stood here? How many people had kissed the lady's cheek? How many often was the statue washed? She probably shouldn't think too hard about that last one. Sharah raised herself up on her tip toes and kissed the cheek of the Lucky Old Lady. A shiver ran down her spine and for an instant she thought she smelled something sweet and metallic, like nightshade and blood. But it was gone before she could be sure. Regardless, Sharah stepped away from the statue. There was work for her to do. The tired guard at the gate was loath to open it at such an hour, but Sharah insisted. Then, out into the night and out into the wilderness. She'd follow the Larsius river until she found the cave, then deal with those who had become its occupants. The shadows seemed to swallow her up as Sharah ran westward, as eager as a wolf for the hunt.

XXX

No horse. No companions. No sound. She'd always been a natural at stealth. Ever since she was young and the sweets kept mysteriously vanishing from her family's kitchen, no matter where her parents hid them. Hell, her father had said he'd only been willing to teach her the blade to avoid her becoming a thief. Which she had done anyway. But now, her sense of stealth coupled with her blade work…She liked killing this way, with no one to see her. There was a certain thrill to hunting human prey. Something about being a predator among your own kind. Sharah didn't talk about it with her guildmates. Killing with stealth wasn't the honorable way. It was the way of the assassin, not of the warrior. But Sharah didn't like getting hurt. And killing someone before they had a chance to see you and fight back…well, she had far fewer scars than her guildmates did. And when it came right down to it, she enjoyed the challenge of remaining undetected.

Sharah found the cave up on the north bank of the river, some way into the woods, about a mile away from the river's mouth. Just seeing the cave entrance got her excited. It was like she was a whole other person right now. She wasn't the Sharah that her guild knew, or the regular citizens knew. She was…a predator. A wolf. And quite intent on killing the four targets that hid away inside that cave. The thought of it brought a familiar chill to her veins. The shroud of cold and dark rushed over and through her. The same feeling that came over her during her first contract in Skingrad and periodically during the years since. She didn't know what it was. Maybe something instinctual that happened when she was on the hunt. One thing she did know was that it came on when she wanted to kill someone, and it made it infinitely easier and more satisfying when she did. This was most certainly something she did not discuss with her guildmates. She wasn't sure anyone would understand.

The details of the forest became more distinct, although it became no brighter. The sounds were more clear, although they got no louder. Sharah indulged herself for a moment to enjoy the feeling bordering on omniscience. Then, back to the task at hand. Four escapees. She'd found them. Too much trouble to drag them back to prison where the jailors were unlikely to increase their security. So she used her best judgment: better to kill them and rid the world of a few murderers. Sharah moved with the shadows and the wind, hardly perceptible to someone who was actually watching.

Within a few yards of the doorway, she froze and melted into the shadows. Someone _was_ watching her. She could feel it. Someone had their eyes on her even where she hid practically invisible in the shadows of the forest. Sharah drew Chillrend silently from its sheath and remained perfectly still. If it was her quarry, they'd probably attack before too long. She had to figure out where they were, and quick. Sharah scanned the forest, looking for any sign of the watchers.

An instinct tugged at her mind: there was no threat. She paused. It wasn't the first time she'd had that kind of instinctive reassurance. And usually it came on when she was enrobed in the mental shroud. In fact, the last time had been rather recently, in Cheydinhal, and in regards to the same sort of feeling of being watched. With the Nightstalker dead, she had still felt eyes on her person all the way to the Fighters Guild. And just like now her instincts told her then: no threat. It had been true before. It could be true now.

Still, the watchers being her quarry seemed the most likely. Who else would be out here? No threat. Sharah didn't like being watched like this. She felt vulnerable, especially not knowing who was watching and why. Why were they here? Why were they watching? No threat. Sharah almost growled. That wasn't good enough. Did they want to see her kill the escapees? Did they want to keep her from killing them? She wanted to know the why of either option. There! Sharah looked straight into the forest to the northeast. They were there. She couldn't see them, didn't know who they were, but they were there. She could feel it. Sharah stared into the dark, doubtless locking eyes with her unseen watcher. She tightened the grip on Chillrend's hilt and waited.

The minutes ticked by and nothing happened. They knew that she knew they were there, but they didn't do anything. What were they waiting for? Her? Were they waiting for her to try something? No. Threat. This time the instinct was quite firm with her. Might not even be an instinct, although she couldn't characterize it as anything else. Sharah grumbled under her breath. Fine then, they weren't a threat. They hadn't done anything…yet. She had a job to do anyway. And as long as…whoever they were didn't get in her way, she wouldn't go getting in theirs.

Sharah gathered the dark shroud around her mind and darted the distance between her and the cave entrance. It felt like the watcher followed after, as the feeling of their eyes persisted even after she was inside. And while she didn't forget about them completely, Sharah did push the feeling to the back of her mind. There was a job to do. If the four escapees were going to die tonight, she had to focus.

The first cavern seemed to be where two of them had set up their beds. Well, they may have escaped together and they may be smuggling away together, but these four criminals weren't really in it together completely. A Redguard woman and a Nord man were in the first cave. The two cutthroat mercenaries by the style of armor that was lying around the bedrolls. And the two of them were…occupied. Apparently, the Bravil prison didn't give conjugal visits. The noise and their lack of attention allowed her to cross the cavern to the passage on the other side without being noticed. The sounds of their current activities would cover what noise she made for the present. When she was done with the mage and the thief, she'd come back for them.

Sharah found an Argonian down the passage. He was in his bedroll with wads of fabric stuffed in his ears. So he didn't hear her creep up behind him. But he did feel the glass blade slip between his ribs, if briefly. In the next cavern, Sharah saw the rogue mage in meditation before a bonfire. And an Altmer mage, to boot. Typical arrogant High Elf, he wore no armor, kept no guard. Just assumed he was well and safe deep in his cavern. She really didn't intend to chance fighting a mage up close. Sharah kept in the dark and drew her bow and a single arrow. Just like back in Skingrad, she felt for the right spot in the air and loosed. The mage grunted and crumpled. A smug little smile tugged at her lips. Time for the love birds.

She moved silently back through the passage and into the main chamber. They were still going at it. Must have drunk a stamina potion or something. Sharah considered her options, then pulled Umbra from her back and hugged the shadows of the cavern's edge until she was within feet of them. Chillrend wouldn't have the length she needed. Sharah watched, judged the rhythm and intensity, and in the moment when the couple gasped their climax, Umbra pierced two hearts with one stroke and the gasp proved their last breath. Sharah exhaled with her own level of pleasure. Perfect. Four dead, and not one of them saw it coming. Now Cyrodiil was minus a few murderers, her contract was done, and she'd had a bit of fun while doing it. The feeling of being watched was still there, but Sharah didn't bother with it. They'd yet to get in her way.

Now that the cave was empty she was free to take what she wanted from the dead. It wasn't much. Armor wasn't worth dragging back to town to sell. But they had a sum of gold that was probably to pay for their passage south. No one would really miss it. Or them. Sharah left the cave and slipped down to the river side. She pulled out her iron dagger and started carving a shadowmark on the tree nearest the bank: a square inside a circle, the thieves guild sign for 'empty'. When the smugglers saw this, they'd know there was no one waiting to be smuggled any more. It was just common courtesy.

When she was most of the way done, the hair on her neck stood on end. The watcher had made his move and she felt threatened now. Sharah whipped the dagger around and came straight at him. He got a hold of her weapon hand, but Sharah jammed an elbow into his stomach and wrenched his arm around. Then she knocked his legs from under him and they hit the ground with her on top and the dagger pressed to his throat. Sharah looked him in the face and snarled like a feral animal, "DAMMIT GRAY!" The Gray Fox's eyes were wide with fear and his hands up in surrender. Sharah growled in frustration and rolled off him to stand up, "I swear by Aedra, Daedra, and anyone else out there! Next time you do that, I will stab you!"

He sat up and rubbed his throat where her blade had lain, looking at her warily, "I'm sorry. I thought you heard me. I didn't think you'd…"

Sharah took a few deep breaths forcing her battle fury down and went back to finishing her symbol, "Well, clearly not. Make sure next time, eh?"

He nodded emphatically, then stood up and looked at what she was doing, "Who's the symbol for?"

"Skooma smuggler," she said, digging at the bark, "They're expecting clients here. The clients aren't here anymore." She dug too hard and she felt the tip of the dagger snap off. Sharah cursed and yanked it back out to check how badly. She had a pair of fine enchanted swords at her disposal, and she walked around with this piece of junk of a dagger.

It took a moment for the Fox to work out what she meant, "You mean…you…"

She looked back at him, "I'm Fighters Guild. How do you think I make my money most of the time? I handle dangerous situations. They were dangerous. So, yeah, I killed them. I thought you were watching."

He shook his head and looked at the shadowmark in a new light, "I just saw you down here. S'Krivva said you were on a contract up the river. I guess I should have figured it was something…like this."

Sharah thought a moment while she fingered the now jagged tip of her weapon. So he wasn't her watcher? The shroud of cold and dark had dispersed when she refrained from killing the Fox, so she couldn't tell if they were still there. She assumed so. But maybe they'd left when they saw she wasn't alone anymore. She'd have to keep aware, just in case. Sharah sheathed the blade, broken tip still somewhere in the tree. In the meantime, "What are you doing here, Gray?"

The Fox took his eyes off the tree trunk, "I need your help again. Getting something here in Bravil. Do you have the time?"

She shrugged, "Now that the contract's done, sure. What are we stealing and from whom?"

The two of them walked in the direction of the city, "It's a unique arrow with a head in the shape of a key. And we're stealing it from the court mage, Fathis Aren."

"Alright. We've stolen from the castle before."

"But the arrow isn't in the castle. It's…I'll show you." The Gray Fox led her up a slope and pointed southward, "Do you see that structure over there. The one in the trees." Sharah squinted and could just make out the dark shape of a tower or something similar. The Gray Fox said, "That's Fathis Aren's tower. He keeps all his prized possessions there. I think that's where the arrow is."

Sharah looked at him, "Do I really have to ask why you can't do this yourself?"

He chuckled halfheartedly, probably still getting over having a knife to his throat. The Gray Fox was not battle hardened. He made his way by avoiding open…anything, combat or otherwise, "Only Aren can open the door into the tower. There is supposed to be a hidden passage somewhere in his chambers. But he's got a ward on it. If it's broken, he'll know."

"But…?"

"But…if the ward is broken and everyone is chasing the thief, someone else can go to the tower without being noticed and get the arrow."

Sharah said, "So you need your Shadow. And which job do I get?"

The Fox replied, "You'll go to the tower." He laughed at the look on her face, "You think I'd leave you to handle a castle full of guards and an angry conjurer? Besides, in my experience, the Gray Fox makes an irresistible target. We'll time it so that Fathis Aren is out of the castle when the ward is broken. You'll go to the tower, I'll wait around in the castle for Aren to bring the guards. I'll lead them a merry chase, just long enough for you to get a good head start, and then I'll disappear and meet you outside the tower when you've got the arrow. I've done it before. Never fails to amuse when I vanish and they haven't the faintest idea where."

Sharah looked toward the outline of the tower, "Sounds like a plan. But he probably has some back up plans in case someone made it past his ward. I'll need all the time you can give me in case there's something down there that's…difficult."

"I'll give you all the time I can," he replied.

"So when do we do this?"

"Tomorrow…or, today I suppose. He leaves at 2 o'clock to visit the Mages Guild. We'll wait until 3 before breaking the ward. Then it'll be up to you. You'll definitely need your cowl this time."

She grinned, "Good thing I always have it with me."

XXX

The plan went off without a hitch. The Gray Fox and his Shadow slipped into the castle undetected and found Fathis Aren's private chambers. At the appropriate time they opened the hidden passage, breaking the door's seal in the process. Sharah headed down the passage while the Gray Fox himself waited just inside the entrance so he could flee back into the castle and hopefully take all the pursuers with him.

Sharah almost immediately regretted leaving behind her swords. They were too unique to carry with her on a job like this. If she got spotted, no black mask would hide her identity. But she hadn't had time to replace her dagger, opting instead for sleep before the job. There was a daedra patrolling the passage to Aren's tower. Thank the Nine, Dremora were apparently as vulnerable as anyone else. When his back was turned she dashed the distance between them and struck. A knife in the back of the neck, jagged point or not, gave her a little shimmer of the mental shroud of dark and cold before the Dremora collapsed with a guttural groan. Hopefully the Fox wouldn't make her pay the guild blood price for killing a Dremora. She hadn't really killed him after all; just cast his animus back to Oblivion. He'd be back as soon as Fathis Aren got around to summoning him again. Hell, the daedra was probably happier to be back home in Oblivion than serving a mortal mage on Mundus.

But it got worse than a single daedra guard. She hit a door. A locked door…with no keyhole. Sharah touched the surface and felt an enchantment within the material. She let a little growl sound in her throat. There was a probably a particular spell that opened it. One that only the mage knew. So much for getting to the tower without Fathis. There was a side passage just a few yards back the way she'd come. Perhaps it led somewhere useful. She went back and downward to a chamber with a couple feet of water across the floor: overflow from the main pool in the room beyond. Sharah came to the edge and looked down. It was a very deep pool. She couldn't even see the bottom. However, she didn't see anywhere else to go. Or anything else to try. And she only had so much time to check every option. If the magically locked door was the only way through, she'd have to get back out through the castle before the Gray Fox's chase ended.

Sharah dug into her pocket for her assortment of enchanted jewelry. She selected a golden band with a small carved fish in the surface. The Jewel of Rumare: a gift of thanks from a fisherman in a hard spot that she had helped some time ago. It allowed her to breath underwater and had proven invaluable on the occasions it was called into service. She slipped it on her finger and dove into the pool. The walls closed in as she went, and the pressure in her ears started to hurt. The Jewel of the Rumare didn't do anything for that part of swimming. The walls closed in to the last and at the bottom of the pool there was a hole. Sharah ducked her head through the opening and into a large underwater chamber. Very large, she couldn't see the sides through the murky water. She'd have to check all around the edge to make sure that there was no other way out, just to be sure.

Sharah pushed down into the chamber and started swimming toward one side, hoping that it wasn't too large. Something on the floor caught her eye. It was a skeleton, a man long dead. Looked like he had been Argonian. But it was his armor that caught her eye. It had holes in it. Large holes that were arranged to look like they'd been made by…jaws. But what could possibly have jaws that large?

There was a slight disturbance in the water. Sharah reacted on instinct, pushing off to the side just before a slaughterfish as long as a house snapped right where she had been an instant before. It was impossibly huge, and as vicious as any slaughterfish she'd ever seen. The dodge didn't fully save her though. The slaughterfish whirled by and its tail slammed into her hard, smashing Sharah into the rock wall of the chamber's side.

She gasped at the water while the monstrous slaughterfish came around for another pass. She had seconds to think of something, the slaughterfish coming at her with gaping jaws large enough to swallow her whole. Inspiration struck and Sharah bunched her legs behind her and pushed hard off the side of the chamber and straight into the monster's mouth. Before it could realize what had happened, Sharah wedged herself against the rows of teeth. The fish went mad. She was yanked and jostled around as it thrashed to free itself of the foodstuff that refused to be eaten. Sharah held herself in place, knowing that if she slipped, it would get a hold of her with its teeth. Then she was as good as dead.

The creature's tongue lashed, trying to dislodge her. With her free hand, Sharah pulled out her dagger and hacked through it. Blood spewed right into her face, the rancid liquid tasting like poison in her lungs. The slaughterfish didn't roar, but something in its throat started vibrating which pounded as hard as a sound in Sharah's ears. She didn't stop but shoved the dagger down the monster's throat and hacked at any flesh she could find. It went mad and she felt it slam against the side of the chamber, trying to force her loose. She kept hacking, especially at the vibrating parts she could only hope were the gills while the blood of her work choked her lungs and blinded her eyes. At long last she felt her hand punched through the flesh of the throat and was greeted with a rush of fresh cool water. The feeling gave her new strength and Sharah went at the other side of the throat with equal vigor.

Now it knew. The slaughterfish knew it was not fighting for a meal. It was fighting to live. Its efforts redoubled, slamming into the wall so hard that it rattled her to the bone. Sharah punched through the other cheek and as she tore it open as far as she could manage. Then one of her legs slipped and the slaughterfish seized her ankle between its teeth. She screamed as it bit down, rending her flesh and snapping bone. She had one chance. With a bout of desperate strength she drove her dagger up into the skull of her nemesis. The fish spasmed. She did it again, feeling a snap and being rewarded by a burst of clear water.

Then all went quiet. The monster went limp around her and its jaw lolled open. She forced herself to wait, despite the agonizing pain in her ankle or the clouds of blood in the water, not all of it from her enemy. The fish turned lazily sideways and there was a dull thump as it bumped into the top of the chamber. Sharah dared to move. She pushed the jaws wide and slipped out of the monster's mouth, dragging her useless foot with her. It was dead. She'd won. She'd survived.

Sharah breathed deep of the clear water, insighting a burst of coughing as she expelled a cloud of fish blood from her lungs. She felt something else disturb the water and yanked around to see several regular sized slaughterfish coming at her. Sharah's terror at the prospect of facing a swarm ebbed when they barreled past, aiming straight for their cousin. Most began tearing hunks of flesh from the monster. Only one chose to investigate the trail of blood from her ankle. When Sharah prepared to strike, she realized that the blade of her dagger was gone. She must have left it in the monster's skull. But there was enough jagged metal to kill the lone fish before it could get a taste of her.

She had to get away while they were busy. On the wall nearest her, Sharah spotted a tunnel that angled upward. She aimed for it, trying not to do any more harm to her ankle. Far enough away from the feeding frenzy of slaughterfish, Sharah focused her magika and directed a restoration spell into her wound. She felt the flesh knit together and the skin close up, although it would sport scars of the very large teeth that had bitten through it. The one thing she couldn't do was mend the bone. She could mend flesh and soft tissue, but not bones. It was at least fractured, likely broken. Maybe one or two of her ribs too. Damn!

She swam the equivalent of limping up the tunnel, finally coming to the surface in another chamber. As she came up, Sharah couldn't help but gulp in the air. Thank the Nine. Thank Azura. Thank every Aedra, every Daedra, every deity that existed. Except for the one that gave Fathis Aren the grand idea to have a monster fish prowling the water beneath his damned tower. That deity could go suck on a barbed mace for all she cared. Sharah dragged herself out of the deep water and onto the floor of the chamber. Her chest hurt almost as much as the ankle. She focused her magika as best she could. She just had to hold herself together long enough to walk out of here. After that she could fall apart, but not until then.

She struggled to her feet and up out of the chamber. She bordered on cursing the gods when another Dremora was guarding the heavy door that she could only pray was the exit. But he wasn't moving. Just staring down the single hallway that led to the door. There was no way she could sneak around him. And she couldn't fight him in her condition with naught but the hilt of a dagger.

Sharah leaned against the wall, and relaxed. She might have a chance if she could just call up that shroud. Blood. Killing. Death. She had to focus or die in this fight. And she would not die in this fight. She would be the killer. She had to focus. This was the only way out. She would be the killer. Sharah breathed easier as the shroud of dark and cold spread through her, embracing her, numbing the pain and easing her rapidly beating heart. All was calm and cold and under control.

She'd never used the shroud in open combat before. The Dremora snarled as she walked around the corner into his hallway. He drew a mace of some metal that looked like it was bleeding and came at her. Sharah waited, gripping the hilt. The Dremora moved…slowly, it seemed. Perhaps it was just the shroud. At the last moment she stepped out of the way of his charge and struck the base of his neck hard with the hilt of her dagger. The Dremora hit the ground with a roar, the mace leaping from his hand. Before he could recover she snatched up the mace and raised it over her head, bringing it down precisely where she had first struck with the dagger. It only took one blow, his neck snapped and she sent another daedra back to Oblivion. Sharah didn't bother gloating. She still had a job to do and limped toward the door, clinging to the shroud on her soul for strength.

Never had fresh air tasted so good in her lungs. It was nearing sunset, or just past it. Hard to tell with the tower's tall walls. She didn't have the time to figure exactly. She had to find Aren's stash and that key shaped arrow. Gray's chase couldn't have lasted this long. She didn't have much time. Sharah staggered up the stairs. The few rooms on the second floor had only storage so she took the next flight. One room on this floor could only be Aren's lab, with a rather secure looking chest in the corner. Sharah knelt heavily before it and inserted into the lock the Skeleton Key that Nocturnal had gifted to her. The key whirled and ticked as it explored the lock and she heard the click as it opened. Sharah lifted the lid and rifled through the contents. Some rare scrolls, some soul gems, and wrapped in a fine cloth was an arrowhead in the shape of a key. It had to be the thing Gray wanted. He'd have to settle for the arrow head because there was nothing else inside the chest.

Sharah heard a commotion on the lower level. Sharah didn't wait for an instant but shoved the arrowhead into her pocket, then snatched another ring from her collection and jammed it onto her finger as the mage Fathis Aren mounted the last flight of stairs and ran into his lab. He saw the open chest and immediately started searching for any sign of the thief. Sharah moved with all the stealth she could manage, passing within feet of the angry Dunmer as he looked around desperately for her. Sharah got to the open center of the tower and started easing herself over the edge. Then Fathis Aren cast a spell she recognized. A spell to detect life. And as he turned around, his eyes focused on her. Invisible as she was with the ring, Sharah knew that in his vision she lit up like a torch.

"YOU!"

Damn, damn, damn! She didn't give him the chance to do anything more than shout before she dropped over the side. Sharah missed the second level and hit a support beam between the first and second floors with her good leg and then dropped to the bottom floor, this time landing on both feet. She felt pain explode from her ankle but rolled out of view of the mage just as a fireball hit the ground beside her. She whispered a restoration spell into her ankle as quickly as she could manage. It gave her relief enough to get to her feet and hobble with all speed to the door. The Skeleton Key was jammed into the keyhole and it popped open before Fathis Aren got down the stairs, shouting curses and weaving his hands through the air, doubtless summoning something awful.

Sharah staggered out the door. If she could get to the water, or into the forest she might have a chance. But the Dunmer was gaining swiftly. She stumbled and was caught before she hit the ground. Sharah looked up to see the Gray Fox at her side. He threw her arm around his neck and they moved, faster than she thought possible, away from the tower, away from Fathis Aren, and away from that bastard fish.

The path they traveled could have been over a cliff and she wouldn't have noticed. She was too focused on not collapsing from the pain in her chest and foot to bother with where they were or where they were going. At last they slowed and he lowered her onto a fallen log. Sharah gasped and tried to breathe easy. She definitely had a cracked rib or two. But she was alive.

"Thank you, Gray. Thank the gods for you," she whispered.

He identified one of the problems well enough and bent over her foot. The first thing he saw was the large tears in the leather of her boots, "Did you get stabbed?"

She shook her head and grinned, a little giddy from the prospect of escaping death so many times in a few hours, "No. Those are tooth marks."

"Teeth!?"

She nodded, giggling despite the pain it caused her, "I got caught by a slaughterfish that was thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis big!" She threw her hands out as wide as she could, wincing and giggling away, very nearly out of her mind.

Gray let her release all the pent up anxiety while he eased the mangled boot off her foot. Her giggles were cut off by a cry of pain and then she went quiet. The flesh of her foot may have been healed, but the bone was still snapped and her ankle had swelled to twice its size despite her restoration attempts. The Fox tested the flesh gently, drawing an occasional whimper of pain. Everything drained out of her and Sharah slumped over, utterly exhausted. It took all her strength just to stay sitting up. The Fox shoved her boot into his satchel rather than try to replace it and went to lift her, "We have to keep going. Aren is probably going to get the guard out here before daylight. We have to hide."

Sharah nodded, and reached for his shoulder, "Mm-hm. Let's go."

He shook his head, not having any of it, "No, you're not walking on that. Come on, get on my back."

She did as she was told, draping her arms over his shoulders and he grabbed her legs and hefted her up onto his back, then bore her further into the forest. Sharah drifted in and out of consciousness. At one point he set her down and put something to her lips. She downed the foul liquid obediently and they were up and traveling again.

The next time she came to fully she was in the camp they'd set up the day before, her horse picketed not far away and her pack, blades and leather armor waiting against a stone. The pain in her ankle and chest was dull and there was a fire crackling nearby that had her comfortably warm.

"How are you feeling?" the Gray Fox asked from across the fire.

She tried to answer, only to find her mouth immensely dry. He passed her a skin of water and she took a drink before trying again, "Better. Thanks." She pulled herself up and looked through her skin. Oh, she was still wearing her ring of Khajiiti. Sharah searched her finger and yanked it off, happy to see her hands again.

The Gray Fox did little more than blink. "What is that?" he asked.

She waved the ring in the air, "The Ring of Khajiiti. Gift from Meridia."

Gray's eyes widened, "That…is the Ring of Khajiiti? Truly? May I…see it?" Sharah grinned and passed it to him. The Fox held it like a treasured relic, marveling at the jewel and the facets of the fabled thief's ring.

She realized something while he did, "How did you see me with that on?"

The Fox looked up and tapped his cowl, "This mask does more than hide my identity. I could have found you in pitch black." She was only too relieved for that as he passed her ring back to her. He asked, "What happened in there? You said something about a slaughterfish?"

She nodded, untying her mask and tossing it over toward her pack, "An underwater guardian for Aren's tower. Had to be three or four horse lengths long. With an appetite to match. It messed me up pretty badly, and I can't heal bone, so…here we are. Plus a couple of Dremora, and an ill placed enchanted door. I ruined my dagger. Overall, it was a full day. But…I got it." She smiled weakly and pulled the wrapped up arrowhead from the pocket of her dark jacket.

The Fox took it and wondered at the intricately designed arrowhead. But he didn't smile, or laugh, or say 'Capital!' He just stared at the arrowhead. "I'm sorry," the words were spoken so softly she barely heard them.

"Gray?"

He pocketed the arrowhead and stood up, "I would like to thank you for your assistance. But it's clear now that you're just not up to this kind of work."

Sharah balked, "What? Are you kidding me? You couldn't have handled that fish any better."

The Gray Fox didn't flinch, "I suppose we'll never know now. I'll make sure you get compensation for your time, but I think it's best that we part ways."

She scrambled to her feet, flinching as the motion jarred her injuries, "Screw payment. I'm not in this for gold. I'm in it for the sake of your curse. Remember that part?"

"And I thank you for the assistance you've offered. But your performance is…not sufficient. So consider this our last job together. From now on, you are no longer my apprentice," he said flatly and turned to leave.

"Now hang on," she demanded, "What's that supposed to mean?"

The Fox glanced back, "You're not good enough. I thought I could train you to assist me. But this job proved you are more of a liability."

"But I got the arrow."

"The arrowhead," he corrected her, "An arrowhead that will have to be repaired while Fathis Aren goes seeking the culprit."

Sharah glared at him, "That was not my fault. He only had the arrowhead. You're not making sense."

The Gray Fox turned on her, "You were right. You're not a thief. You'll only ever be a warrior. Go back to your guild, do your contracts. Maybe meet someone and settle down. Either way, you're no further use to me." Before she could react he vanished into the forest.

She was dumbstruck. What had just happened? "Gray? Gray!" No response. He was…gone. But what about his curse? He said he'd needed her help. What about all the time they'd spent together? Everything he'd spent time teaching her? Was he just going to drop her because she'd made a mistake? She thought they were friends. Sharah hobbled back and sat down by the fire. He'd made a big deal about how he appreciated her company, how he hated being isolated by the curse of the cowl for so long. And now this? He wouldn't just drop her because she had a bad night. There had to be more to it.

Sharah massaged her head and eased herself back onto the bedroll. She still hurt and she was still tired. Something dug a little into her side. The empty scabbard of her now ruined dagger. She'd dropped the hilt somewhere. Sharah unfastened her belt and slid the scabbard off. Then she tossed it in the fire. She'd used the dagger to the last. Hadn't even tossed it away with that chip off the end. Even as nothing but a hilt it had saved her life. And the Fox was just tossing her away after one bad heist. She rolled over while the leather curled into ash. He couldn't have meant all those things. There had to be something more to it.

**Next chapter is a little frivolous and romantic, but Lucien makes an appearance and then has his own chapter. Promise.**

**Reviews are beloved from those of you reading. Please let me know how I'm doing with this.**


	7. Stealing a Kiss

**Ok, here is the latest chapter. I'll admit this one is an indulgence of my girlish fantasies. If it sounds too much like an indulgence of my girlish fantasies, here's a thought...LET ME KNOW! Review already! Give me something! Last time I checked, a grand total of 10 people had made it through all the chapters. Props to those of you with long attention spans. I appreciate it. But please...by the Nine, say something...anything? **

**Last note before we begin, this belongs to Bethesda. Everything does. Except my OC. She's mine.**

By morning the healing draught had done enough of its task that she could put weight on her foot. But she couldn't afford to stay where she was for any longer. Fathis Aren would have the guards out on the road looking for his thief, at least for today. And the camp close enough to Bravil that she couldn't assume she'd go unnoticed. And she wouldn't go to the chapel in Bravil for precisely the same reason. He'd have them watching for unexplainable injuries too, and was certain to recognize the bite of his stupid fish. So even though the ankle still hurt to walk on, Sharah mounted up and rode northward on the Green Road.

By the third day the draught's affects were negligible and she was forced to construct a sort of brace for her ankle by cutting up some tree limbs and tearing apart one of her spare shirts. But even then every stride was jarring in both her chest and leg, despite the slowed pace she set her horse to. But Sharah gritted her teeth and pressed on, whispering a periodic healing spell into her leg to keep the flesh strong and the pain at a minimum. They didn't stop very often, but it was slow going and by the time they reached Chorrol, Sharah really needed to see a healer.

Sharah eased out of the saddle with a groan, favoring her still broken ankle. She gave a few coins to the stable hand to stable her horse for her and limped into the city. There was something happening at the Gray Mare. Tables were out front and people were stringing up colored lamps and putting flowers everywhere that wouldn't hold a mug or plate.

Guilbert Jemane was up a ladder with an armful of morning glories. When he spotted her, he waved, then scrambled down and ran around the wall to approach. Whatever he was going to say died on his lips when he saw her braced ankle. "Are you alright?" he asked anxiously.

Sharah glanced down at her ankle, "I've been better. I'm going to the chapel later after I report to the guild."

He darted to her elbow when she took a staggered step, "I think perhaps you should go to the chapel now."

She waved him off, "It's not that bad. I've been dealing with it for a few days. The chapel can wait another hour."

"So can the guild," Guilbert countered, "Please, let me get you to the healer. I…I don't like seeing you in pain."

Sharah wanted to brush him off, but he had a look on his face as though a refusal would mortally wound him. "Alright, then. Healer first, guild second."

Guilbert carrying her was out of the question, but she did lean on his shoulder as they walked to the chapel. The orc priestess greeted them when they entered, "Ah, Guilbert. Another elixir?"

He shook his head, "No. Sharah's hurt. She needs to see the healer."

The priestess nodded, "I'll get him. Please take a seat."

Guilbert ushered her onto a bench, going so far as to lift her injured leg up onto the bench before she shooed him away. "It's not that bad, Guilbert."

He stepped back awkwardly, "I just…want to make sure you're alright."

The chapel's Dunmer healer, Gureryne Selvilo, came into the main room and frowned the moment he saw her, "Another guild member. Half my healings are for folk like you. What is it this time?"

Sharah replied, "Broken ankle and a couple of cracked ribs. I only know basic restoration. Couldn't manage the bones. I drank a healing draught a week ago but nothing else."

He shook his head, "And I suppose you want me to fix you up so you can go out and hurt yourself again?"

She shrugged, "Something like that."

The Selvilo shook his head again but dutifully lifted his hands to check the damage. His frown deepened when the examination was through, "You may have drunk it, but there's hardy evidence."

Sharah adjusted on the bench, "I was riding to get here. Not a lot of time to sit and let it work."

Guilbert asked, "Can you heal her?"

Selvilo cast him an appraising glance, "Of course. If you would just take a seat. You're fretting is affecting my concentration."

Guilbert took the order to heart and planted himself on a bench across the way and went absolutely rigid. His anxiety only lessened when Sharah's expression became soft with the healer's spell.

When Selvilo was satisfied, he handed her two vials of the usual foul smelling healing potion, "I've mended the bones, but you need to allow your body time to finish the process and bring them back to full strength. Drink one now, the other tomorrow. I would recommend bed rest for the next few days, but considering what I know of you that might be asking too much. At least take it easy, and try to stay off the foot as much as possible."

Sharah tore off her makeshift brace and tested her weight on the ankle. It was a little stiff but she could walk without limping. Same could be said of her chest. Just a little stiff, but it no longer hurt when she breathed. "Thank you, Selvilo. I'll do my best on that," Sharah said.

She reached for her belt, but Guilbert was faster on his coin purse. She didn't try to argue as he seemed to have taken on the intensity of an overly protective big brother. So she let him give the customary donation to the temple while she downed the first of the potions, resolving to reimburse him later on.

Sharah walked out of the temple on her own with almost no sign of her previous injury. Although Guilbert still walked close enough that they were almost brushing elbows. Did he think she was going to fall part from a shabby healing job? It was nice that he was concerned, but she wished he wouldn't be quite this concerned. It wasn't as though her life had been threatened by the injuries. Just by the fish. And that certainly wasn't a threat anymore.

Guilbert cleared his throat, "I guess that you'll go back to your guild now?"

Sharah nodded, "That is the plan. I still have to report on the contract."

"And after?"

She replied, "You heard the healer. Bed rest. I'll get some reading done, fix my boot. Maybe convince Selvilo to teach me the healing of bones for the next time this happens."

Guilbert looked over at her, "Next time?"

She gave him a look of gentle exasperation, "I'm Fighters Guild. I regularly go up against things and people who would like to do me harm. This is not my first broken bone, and it won't be my last. So, yes Guilbert. Next time."

He looked like he might make another comment toward her safety, but instead he said, "Actually, I was wondering if you had any plans for tonight."

Sharah replied, "Nothing definitive…oh, wait. What's today's date?"

"The 16th."

"Of Sun's Dawn. Right. Emfrid's hosting a celebration. I did promise to attend if I was back in time."

"I was going as well…" Guilbert looked hopeful, "Would you…care to go together?"

She shrugged, "No reason not to."

His face split open, "Wonderful. So, shall I meet you here at sunset then?" Their walk had taken the two of them to the door of the Fighters Guildhall.

"Sure," she replied, "And I'll try not to hurt myself between now and then." They parted, Sharah heading into the guildhall and Guilbert down the street with a rather light step.

Cargas and Lashana ambushed her the moment she was inside.

"What was Guilbert doing here?"

"Where's he going?"

"What happened?"

Sharah retreated a few steps in surprise and then attempted to get around them, "He was walking me back from the chapel."

Lashana got this devilish grin on her face, "The chapel, huh? Something you'd like to tell us?"

Sharah said, "I broke a few bones on contract. Guilbert took me to see the healer before I reported. I saw the healer. Now I'm reporting."

Cargas asked, "And Guilbert? Anything…happen?"

Sharah eyed the women, "I'm fine by the way. Thanks for asking about that. And no, not really. We're going to Emfrid's Heart's Day gathering tonight."

Lashana barked a laugh while Cargas groaned and dug into her pockets, handing her a handful of septims. Sharah's eyes darted between them, "What was that about?"

Lashana pocketed the sum, "Nothing. So when are you meeting him?"

"At sunset. He'll come here and we'll go down then."

Cargas declared, "Well, if you're going to a Heart's Day celebration, you have to be properly dressed."

"Oh, absolutely," Lashana agreed. As one, they grabbed Sharah by both arms and bundled her up the stairs and all the way to her bed.

Cargas popped open the lid to Sharah's trunk and pulled out the dress she'd worn on the Nightstalker contract, "You have to wear this."

Sharah gaped and snatched it away, "You two went through my stuff? Stealing is against guild rules. You could be expelled."

Lashana was aghast, "Sharah, we're your friends. We'd never steal from you. We were just curious. And imagine our surprise to learn that you actually own a dress. You have to wear it for your date."

Sharah threw her pack to the bed and shouldered past them to place her last healing potion on the bedside, "It is not a date. We're both going anyway so we're just going together. And I am not wearing a dress."

Cargas asked, "When'd you even buy that?"

Sharah wadded up the garment and threw it back in place, "I bought it in Cheydinhal last month so I could play helpless maiden and flush out a vampire. Now, I still need to report. I'd appreciate it if you two would resist the urge to rifle through my pack while I do."

Sharah walked away in a bit of a huff. Out of earshot she sighed and her hand brushed the pocket that held her black mask. If she'd left it behind, her guildmates would have found it. And even if they didn't know exactly what it was, there still would have been questions. Even here, surrounded by the closest thing to family that she had, even with her apprenticeship to the Grey Fox apparently over, she still couldn't let down her guard. Sharah sighed again. She could have no proper rest it seemed. Always something to hide.

Oreyn was at the desk, looking like he'd never moved in the time she'd been gone, "What kept you?" He couldn't have expected her back from the contract so fast. He was probably referring to her chat with the girls downstairs.

"Healing and personal matters. Won't happen again. The fugitives were hiding out in a cave near Bravil. I found them and ended up killing them."

Oreyn shrugged, "I'm sure it couldn't be helped. You were injured?"

"A separate incident. Slaughterfish got a hold of my ankle while I was in the water. Knocked me around a bit before I could kill it. Broke the ankle and cracked a couple ribs. Nothing major." That was as close to the truth as she needed to be.

"So you made it to Chorrol despite the injuries, but went to the chapel first instead of straight to me. Why?"

So he did know what she'd been doing, "Outside influence."

"From…?"

Oreyn really wanted to know everything today, "Guilbert Jemane, sir. He was concerned and I took his recommendation to see the healer first."

The guild second listened with his usual stern and unreadable expression, moving on, "And did I hear that Lashana and Cargas Laftrius broke into your trunk? I assume you want to log a complaint against them?"

Sharah shook her head vigorously, "No, sir."

Oreyn raised an eyebrow, "You sure about that? Threatening another member's personal property is not something to be overlooked."

Sharah insisted, "They didn't mean any harm, sir. I've known them since guild training. They were probably just bored without a contract."

Oreyn's sharp officer's demeanor faltered for a moment, "The Nine know we've had more of that lately. If you're sure, I'll trust your judgment." He opened a drawer and pulled out a familiar sight, "Four hundred gold for the contract. Well done. And in the future, unless a report is time sensitive, I would consider seeing to your injuries to be more important. How are you feeling now?"

Sharah was surprised at how quickly his tone turned gentle, "A little stiff, sir. I'll be as good as new in a few days."

He nodded, satisfied with her answer, "One last thing. I think a dress would be an appropriate choice for a date on Heart's Day."

Sharah blurted, "It is not a date…sir." Had Oreyn just given her a dating tip? How was he even capable of discussing such a topic?

Oreyn looked back at his papers, "Mm-hm. You're dismissed." Was he smiling? No, not Modryn Oreyn. Had to be a trick of the light.

Sharah descended to the second floor and went to her bunk. Lashana and Cargas were gone, her travel pack was undisturbed, and the trunk was still open. When she made to close it, Sharah's eyes fell on the dress she'd thrown in.

She reached out and lifted up the garment. She'd never really worn a dress to just wear it. There had always been a purpose. Actually, just one purpose: hurting people. The only times she had worn a dress while in Cyrodiil it had been for the sake of doing people harm. In Anvil, some three years ago, she'd worn a dress to play seductive and convince a gang of Sirens to lead her to their hideout. It had worked too, and then she had killed them. And then, in Cheydinhal, she'd worn a dress to play the helpless maiden and get a vampire to show his face…and then she had killed him. Two dresses, same result. And she'd never worn a dress at any other time.

So, in her personal experience, the act of wearing a dress was duplicitous and sinister. Which was just silly. Women wore dresses all the time. It didn't mean they were trying to hurt people. So why was she looking at this thing like it was going to turn her into some kind of wolf in a sheep's skin. Sharah almost laughed out loud. Wasn't that exactly what she'd used it for? The Wolf in sheep's wool, playing at something she wasn't?

Sharah stared at the dress. She didn't have to pretend when she was wearing it though. She could always wear it and stay herself, right? Just because she hadn't tried it before, didn't mean she couldn't. A dress was just another bit of clothing, like armor or a pair of pants. She didn't change by wearing something different, even if it was a dress.

But what would other people think? They'd treat her differently when she was wearing a dress, wouldn't they? Well…her guildmates wouldn't. They knew her well enough. And Emfrid wouldn't. She'd known Sharah the longest in this town, there'd be no changing how she acted. And plenty of other people who already knew her: Honditar, and Guilbert, and Rallus, and Selidor…

She was overthinking this. It was just a dress. Just because she wore something feminine wouldn't make people automatically assume she…who knew, wanted to be courted or whatever other silliness came into their heads. She was still herself and a garment didn't change that. So Sharah tossed the dress on the bed and started unstrapping her cuirass. She'd wear the dress tonight. No big deal. And if she didn't like it, then it would go back in the trunk and she need never wear it again. Simple as that.

XXX

Sharah reached the bottom of the stairs before anyone saw her. Guilbert was in the dining room with some of her guildmates when she came down. She hadn't meant to keep him waiting, but Sharah hadn't done anything to her hair on her own before. So it took a bit longer than she thought. Not that it looked anything like when Felrika had done it, but it was up…sort of. Her two best friends were dressed in something girlish: Cargas was in a blue skirt, and Lashana's usual iron cuirass was traded out for a shirt of burgundy. Apparently Sharah wasn't the only one who was going out, or the only one to have thought to dress up.

When they noticed her, though, the conversation paused. The Wolf of Cyrodiil in a dress. Guilbert's mouth actually fell open a bit. Sharah blushed; maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Lashana bounced over and whispered in her ear mischievously, "So you weren't going to wear a dress, huh? Is this still not a date?"

Sharah got her mental footing back and swung a fist into the Redguard's shoulder, "Shut up." Lashana yelped and massaged her shoulder in an exaggerated motion. Sharah hoped it would bruise.

She went over to Guilbert and said, "Shall we go now?" Cargas and Lashana had been utterly insufferable since she got back and Sharah did not want to have them spouting off more nonsense and embarrassing the both of them. When he nodded, Sharah hooked an arm around his and dragged him up and out the door. But her guildmates pursued and caught up quick enough. Sharah glared at them, although she couldn't keep a smile from spreading across her face, "Can't I get rid of you all for one night?"

Lashana grinned, "Well, believe it or not, we were already going to the Grey Mare. It is the place to be on Heart's Day. And while you and I may have a date, we still need to find one for Cargas." Lashana's hand found Ashtus's while Sharah resolved to bruise the woman's other shoulder.

"What about that new guy? Uh…Eduard?" Sharah offered.

"Eduard Hodge," Cargas clarified, "And I think he has other tastes. Besides, I prefer to keep my options open on a night like tonight." They were halfway to the Grey Mare when Sharah realized her arm was still around Guilbert's and she detached herself. Why hadn't he said anything?

The Grey Mare was bustling. The lamps had been lit even before the sun was all the way down, flowers scattered everywhere, along with music and laughter filling the air. And on the tables there was plenty of food and drink…a lot of drink. It looked like as big a celebration as she had ever seen. Sharah had grown up in a small town that very rarely had large parties. And she'd been on the road so often the last few years, most of the time she was in the wilderness when the holidays came up. But apparently this was a particularly important one in Chorrol because there were people she didn't recognize who must have come in from out of town. The group took up a table inside and when Emfrid came around for their order she smiled broadly at seeing Sharah in a dress and Guilbert sitting beside her. Sharah could tell the woman's fingers were doubtless itching to fix Sharah's hair, but the night was young and her business was booming.

Sharah recognized more people in the crowd or as they arrived: Rasheda the town smith, the Dorans, Casta Scribonia who Sharah would have assumed would prefer the Oak and Crosier. Some off duty guards came around. Bittneld the Curse-Bringer arrived after dark, and Emfrid received a garland of morning-glories around her neck.

More of their guildmates showed up: Eduard Hodge, Kurz and Lum gro-Baroth, and Sabine Laul, who very rarely drank. They soon had to pull another table over. Even Viranus Donton made an appearance, with his mother, the Master of the guild, Vilena Donton. Poor kid. Sharah had heard that his older brother had died on contract some time after Sharah joined up and now his mother hardly let him go anywhere. Which was part of why Sharah hardly ever saw him. It must be tough when your mother is head of your guild. He still looked a little smothered, but at least Viranus was out of his mother's house. He and Eduard Hodge caught each other's eyes for a brief moment. Then Viranus sat down awkwardly beside him.

Looking around, Sharah wondered if there was anyone left in the guildhall. She was not the only one shocked when Modryn Oreyn showed up. And in a cream colored silk shirt. Sharah's mouth actually dropped open. Did she even know this man? Lashana couldn't resist, "Lookin' good, Oreyn!" He kept his usual scowl, and Sharah guessed she wasn't the only one counting the bruises Lashana was racking up. People came and went from the table. Reynald Jemane changed from his usual seat in the corner to sitting with the guild and his brother. Cargas began roving the inn for tonight's lucky evening companion.

The place was crowded to capacity, even using the front lawn. Musicians of every caliber brought out their instruments and played for the masses, who still managed to clear room for dancing. Bittneld read a poem he'd dedicated to Emfrid. The vocabulary was simple and the rhyming was atrocious, but no one dared to say a word against the guard captain. Sharah thought it was the sweetest thing to see Captain Curse-bringer turn poet for his lady. That didn't keep her from stifling a giggle in her mead during his reading. Sharah had expected the usual night at the Grey Mare with a Heart's Day theme. But this was far more than that and she was having a wonderful time.

Sharah was on her second bottle when another familiar face walked up to stand by her shoulder. "Sharah, I'm glad you could make it," Rallus Odiil said, speaking over the din.

Sharah smiled up at him, "I did promise to come, didn't I?"

Lashana coughed into her mug, "Wait. You promised him? When?"

Sharah replied, "He caught me before I left on the contract. I said I'd come to the Mare on Heart's Day if I was back. So…here I am. What?"

Cargas, sitting next to her, elbowed Lashana and held out her hand. Lashana went into her purse and passed her twice the coin they'd exchanged earlier.

"Alright, what is that about?!" Sharah demanded.

"Nothing!" they both insisted.

Rallus's eyes moved to the man sitting next to her. "Guilbert," he greeted him in a dull tone.

"Rallus," Guilbert said back, similarly. Apparently the two didn't get along very well.

Rallus looked to her, "Sharah, would you care to dance?"

"She can't!" Guilbert blurted out, louder than he had intended. He cleared his throat and said, "She broke her ankle while on her contract. The healer said she should stay off it. Right, Sharah?"

She shrugged apologetic, "Yeah. I'm supposed to take it easy. Besides, I don't actually know how to dance."

Rallus smiled, "Well, I do. If you'd like, I could teach you. And we can take it slow. No unnecessary strain on your ankle, I promise."

Sharah asked, "Are you sure you wouldn't rather dance with someone who won't step on your feet?"

He held out his hand, "I would be happy to get such bruises from you."

When Sharah still hesitated, Cargas said, "Oh, go ahead, Sharah. I'm sure it will be fun."

"If I don't fall on my face, maybe," Sharah retorted. Several at the table started hurling encouragement and she gave in, "Alright, alright. If it will shut you up."

She took Rallus's hand and let him lead her to the dance floor. This must be terribly fun for them. She bet they just wanted to see the Wolf of Cyrodiil, in a dress, stumbling through the first dance of her life. But once Sharah actually started dancing, there wasn't room for her to worry about what they were thinking. She was too focused on not falling over her feet and not stepping on Rallus's. Rallus, to his credit, was a confident dancer. Not only that but he was incredibly patient, and let Sharah lean on him as much as she needed while struggling to get the rhythm and movement down.

Unfortunately, actually getting on the dance floor seemed to make her an open commodity. An off-duty guard, whose name she could not recall, asked to cut in after her dance with Rallus. Then someone else took command of her and then another. One of her partners was Gaturn gro-Gonk, who'd been kicked out of the Fighters Guild for stealing. He was drunk and his hands wandered a bit further south than was appropriate. Sharah was only too happy to plant her heel on his foot and send him away limping. She was still grinning at it when she was snatched up by another partner.

During a group jig she somehow found herself partnered with Modryn Oreyn of all people. He was actually very light on his feet considering how well he beat on her with his mace. Sharah never would have guessed that the Fighters Guild second could cavort with the best of them. When that dance was done, Oreyn passed her Guilbert Jemane, who had stood from the table to join in the revelry. Guilbert had a very light touch so she paid that much closer attention to his every movement as he led her around the floor. And all through this juggling of partners and dance steps and music, she found herself having so much fun that it was hard not to smile and laugh every minute. Sharah finally waved off the next dance when her recent healings started to ache, and she went to sit down, Guilbert appearing in his seat a moment later.

"So," Cargas asked, "What did you think of your first dance?"

Sharah laughed and downed the remainder of her mead in one go, extremely thirsty after all that exertion, "I think if this was our training method, we'd have fewer members."

The Odiil brothers joined the table, but not their father. Ashtus and Lashana were spinning away out on the floor. Sharah was almost scared what would happen if one of them let go. A bit later there were sounds of a fight breaking out by the bar, but it was short lived. Most fights were when the Captain of the City Watch was present. Eduard and Viranus had moved to a table of their own and were talking in rather hushed tones, their feet knocking together under the table. Oh, that's what Cargas meant by 'other tastes'. Well, to each his own.

Right around when Rallus began recounting the battle that had saved his family farm from goblins, the reason she had met the Odiils in the first place and the thing that had brought her to the attention of the Fighters Guild, Guilbert disappeared and when he came back it was with a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy. That immediately got the entire table excited and he poured out glasses of the amber liquid with all due grandeur. If Guilbert wasn't a friend to the Fighters Guild before, he certainly was now.

Sharah stared into her glass. She'd never had brandy before. Guilbert talked about warming and sniffing. Rallus made some remark about distilling his own. Sharah didn't really understand most of it. All she knew was that it was expensive and very strong. And considering she never drank more than two meads at one time, and she'd already had that…Sharah shook away her reservations. She was already in a dress, how much worse could it get? So she lifted the glass and took a drink. The brandy went down her throat hot, and felt like it started a fire in her stomach. When she got a breath of air, the strength of the fumes sent her coughing. She heard her guildmates laughing at her and felt a hand on her back until the coughing subsided. Ok, smaller sips. But in those smaller amounts she found it tasted very sweet. Sweet enough that she probably finished her glass faster than she should have. Guilbert didn't help by refilling it when she did.

It wasn't too much longer before her senses got a little hazy and her head felt light. That was about when someone started yelling, "Steal a kiss! Steal a kiss!" Others took up the call until the whole inn sounded like it was roaring. It turned into a cheer when the first woman stood up and walked to the center of dance floor, which had been cleared away in preparation for this next event. Sharah groaned and took another overly healthy drink of brandy. Steal a kiss. Stupid game. But apparently not one confined to small villages. The woman was blindfolded and made to spin around in the center of the gathering. A musician played a merry tune to keep time and when it stopped so did she. Now blindfolded and disoriented, she stood waiting for gentlemen to walk up and plant their lips upon her.

Sharah rolled her eyes as the first man, made brave by drink or just driven by pride, gave the first kiss of the game which elicited a cheer from those watching. Mostly it would be kisses on the cheek or forehead, but the more adventurous or drunk might try for lips. She didn't much like the game, ever since that first time. Sharah had played it once in her youth with other children, and they'd thought it would be great fun to run off and leave her standing there, blindfolded and alone. She'd gone running to her mother in tears and swore never to play again.

After a few kisses, another young woman was dragged up by her friends, laughing and giggling. The blindfold was exchanged, the new player was spun and eventually kissed. The game was probably intended to spark romances. Sharah was pretty sure it was an excuse for people to smack lips with no strings attached. The next players were two sisters that went up together. Sharah settled herself firmly on her seat and traced her finger over the rim of her glass.

"Aren't you going up there?" Lashana leaned in to ask.

Sharah shook her head. Damn, the air felt as dense as water with every movement. How much had she drunk? "No, thanks. I'm not getting up there to be embarrassed."

"It's not embarrassing, it's fun," Lashana insisted.

Sharah said, "Not my sort of thing."

Cargas laughed, "Yeah, like you weren't gonna wear the dress, you weren't gonna dance, and I bet you weren't gonna drink much either." Sharah's glass stopped halfway to her lips. The Imperial did have a point. Apparently, Heart's Day was perfect for chasing away her prudence, because she wasn't normally so prone to peer pressure. Must be because it was Sanguine's summoning day too. Bastard daedra. Cargas stood up, "Ok, I'm going up next. And you're coming with me."

Sharah resigned herself, too tipsy to try and come up with an argument against it, tossed back the last of the glass and stood up when Cargas came skipping around the table. She'd sworn not to play the game again but…what the hell. And this time, when she didn't get kissed, she could blame it on the woman notorious for one night stands. Sharah stood still while Cargas tied the blindfold on in front of everyone. After it was on some people started laughing and Sharah felt her face heat up. The Wolf playing Steal a Kiss. Sharah reached out to Cargas, just for some support, but couldn't find her in the empty air.

"Spin, Sharah!"

She cocked her head. That was Cargas, but it was coming from over by the tables. Oh, that little harpy. She'd left her up there alone. "Spin!" "Spin!" People shouted and the music started up. Sharah obliged, but Lashana was not the only one who was gonna get it tomorrow.

She turned, taking her steps deliberately, now quite aware of just how much brandy she had consumed. Faster and faster, to the rhythm of the lute and the chant of the onlookers, her head a swirl of sounds. When they finally ceased she staggered to a halt, dizzy and swaying, praying she wouldn't topple over in front of everyone. Her concerns about being just left standing there were eased when someone came up and kissed her on the forehead. She'd trained enough with the man to know it was Oreyn. It was a pity kiss, something your father or uncle might do on Heart's Day if you were playing for the first time, but she'd take it. And appreciated that he'd make sure she was kissed on Heart's Day.

More standing there and someone else gave her a peck on the cheek. The next person to come up tugged on her sleeve and she had to bend down a little for him to give her a kiss. One of the not quite grown boys who'd had courage enough to walk up before darting back to his seat. Might have even done it on a dare. Her following taker felt like being clever. He kissed her on the cheek, ran around her, kissed her on the other cheek, ran around again. It got the whole gathering laughing until he was finally dragged away, being told to give other people a turn.

Alright, so it was kind of fun. Still a stupid Heart's Day game, but not as bad as she'd expected. She'd gotten kissed more than once, so she was about ready to pull off the blindfold and hand it off to the next player when Sharah felt someone standing in front of her. Alright, she'd take it off after this one. After a minute, she started to wonder if he was just teasing her. There were some yells of encouragement that she had to assume were directed at the man standing there. She heard him take a deep breath, lean in, and kiss her full on the mouth. He may have been tentative to start, but the kiss itself was quite firm, and she was surprised to be the recipient. There was brandy on his breath, but that only narrowed the possibilities by much. She didn't mind though. The kiss drew a particularly loud cheer from the onlookers, and Sharah knew her cheeks were glowing red. When he finally drew away, she couldn't help but smile, although she didn't reach for her blindfold. It had been more like a real kiss than any of the others. Maybe she'd ask later who it was.

But the game wasn't over yet. Almost immediately after her previous suitor stepped away, another took his place. This one had none of the previous' hesitation. Before she knew it, he'd put one arm around her waist, the other around her shoulders and dipped her backwards before kissing her on the lips. Sharah was taken completely off guard and, considering her already diminished sense of equilibrium, all she could think to do was grab his shoulders and hang on so as not to fall. If the previous had been a more genuine kiss, this one most certainly was. And it drew whoops from everyone watching.

Then Sharah felt a yank, and she dropped to the ground as the man was pulled away from her. She was still stunned from the kiss and more than a bit dizzy from the brandy. But that didn't mean she missed the distinctive sound of a fist hitting someone's face. A struggle ensued and the whole place erupted in noise. Before Sharah could recover, someone grabbed hold of her and dragged her to her feet and away from the fight. She didn't have much choice as she was not even capable of standing on her own at this point. So she clung to him, cursing every drop of alcohol that had gone down her throat. She was pulled past a rush of bodies: spectators now rushing forward to haul the combatants apart. The two of them continued on, away from the turmoil until the noise was dulled. Only then did their pace slow and ultimately stop.

Sharah focused on breathing. She was done. Tonight was done. Too much excitement and she was just in no condition to handle any more of it right now, no matter what had just happened at the Mare. She was woozy, tired, her healings hurt and she could barely think straight. Sharah just wanted to somehow get back to the guildhall and rest. For a minute she just stood there, trying to get her legs and senses together while clinging to her escort, whose arm still held her up.

It finally occurred to her that she still wore the blindfold and reached up clumsily to try and pry it off. But before Sharah could even get her fingers on it, her escort caught her wrist in an iron grip, deliberately preventing the attempt. Even drunk as she was, Sharah's anger sparked. The game was over. She wanted out and back to what was familiar. She didn't have the chance to attempt to resist though. He held her for a few seconds while she tried to focus her anger into an action. Then he bent and pressed his lips to hers.

Sharah went rigid for an instant. This kiss was…different. It was intense and…stirred something in her. Within seconds she forgot her anger and melted into him. He dropped her wrist and ran his fingers along her cheek and delved into her hair, guiding her deeper into the kiss, while his other hand looped further around her waist and pulled her hard against him so they were flush from thigh to chest. And for all that she had no idea who this man was and that she'd never been kissed before tonight, Sharah answered him move for move, kissing back, pressing close, needing.

When his tongue traced over the crease of her lips, she parted them and found herself being devoured by him and wanting every instant. He reacted accordingly, drawing at her like one starved of sustenance. He arced his hips and she felt an electric current ride through her as her knees parted over one of his. Sharah grasped handfuls of his clothes, trying to get him closer. Her mind was so wild at this point she could barely grasp at a thought. And the ones she did grasp were new to her: that her clothes were hot and restricting, that she wanted to feel her skin on his, that there was a hot pooling sensation between her thighs and that she desperately wanted him to touch it.

And as suddenly as he'd started, the man stopped and pulled back. She didn't want him to. As thoughtless and breathless as she was, Sharah definitely knew she did not want him to stop. She reached for his mouth again, but the hand in her hair held her back. A sound issued from her mouth that she didn't even know she could make and she undulated her hips as he had, sending another wave of heat through her body as the joining between her legs pressed against his thigh, begging for contact. But he didn't answer her plea. Instead he pressed his lips to her forehead and shifted his knees to press her legs closed, a gentle refusal. Another sound issued from her lips as her head dropped to rest on her chest in the crook of his neck.

They stood for a while, with her still pressed against him and his arms encircling her protectively as the heat in her body faded and her heartbeat gradually subsided until it came to beat in time with his. She relished the delicacy of his touch as well as the swell of his chest as he breathed and the warm breath on the crown of her head.

In the peace of the moment, all those unpleasant consequences came back at once: the ache in her bones, the dizzying result of the brandy, her sheer exhaustion which was compounded by tonight's exertions, her healing and the fact that she'd just ridden back wounded from a contract and had yet to sleep. But she did not want to move from right here. For all she couldn't think straight, could barely stay standing, she did not want to move from here.

Her mystery escort moved his hands and Sharah was falling…or flying. Her head was so muddled she didn't really know which, only that her feet were no longer on the ground. But either way he was still with her. And she felt utterly safe with him. The thought did surface briefly that she still wore the blindfold. Sharah lifted her hand to try and remove it, or maybe just to touch his face. But her arm was too heavy to do either so she just relaxed against him, breathing deep and trying to remember everything she could. He smelled like old stone, a little like horses, and a metallic hint like blood. He was taller than her, strong but held her so gently. The darkness of sleep rose to envelope her. Her last thought was that when he'd kissed her, he'd tasted sweet…like apples…

**YAY! A round of applause for all of you fantastic people who've read and kept with me. Now before you go, put some words in that review box below. **_**Tell me you love me...PLEASE! **_

**Can you guess who finally made his appearance at the end here? If you can't, get back on Oblivion and kill an innocent already! He has the next chapter all to himself, so stay tuned.**


	8. To Silence a Speaker

**For you first time readers, here is Lucien in his own chapter. I hope he doesn't disappoint.**

**For you back-readers, I am so much happier with this version than the last one. Yay! Hopefully you all like it better too. Please review and everything. Let me know if this version is better. I have also rewritten the end of Ch 7 and the beginning of Ch 9. Hit those up as well.**

When the black robed man crossed the bridge out of Bravil, the guard on duty wisely turned his head so as not to acknowledge his passing. He, like many in Bravil, had learned to avoid those garbed in black in this city. Because those who didn't tended to vanish without a trace. And then there was the man's mood. Even with his face concealed, the man's anger was an aura warning that he should be left alone if only for the sake of self-preservation.

They were fools not to heed him. Each and every one of them. Even their wise and dutiful leader. How was it only he could see the signs? There was something ill taking root in their family. Only small things, true. But a healthy suspicion had only ever served him well. He knew what he saw happening around him. And in time they would see it too. The black cloaked man wondered how many of their number would fall between now and then. How many would be sacrificed for the sake of their superiority and complacency?

As the man approached the back paddock of the Bay Roan Stables, a shadow moved against the rest. The man slowed his pace and felt his foul mood lift slightly at the vision of darkness before him. The magnificent black mare raised her head and flared her nostrils in greeting, fixing him with her glowing red eyes. A servant of the Void in all her glory. How could she be anything else? Powerful and untamed, proud and fierce. Shadowmere, steed of the Void. The man was honored that she saw fit to bear him and follow his bidding. He was the only one she favored with her service. Not even their Mother's chosen Listener was permitted to command her. The mare had nearly taken a bite out of the Bosmer when he'd tried. The Imperial man's lip was drawn upward at the corner as he recalled the memory.

His stern composure returned quickly though. Now was not the time to stand about daydreaming. He had far to go this time. Three clients. One in Skyrim. He had much to do. And something of note here as well, it seemed.

Lucien Lachance, Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood and member of the Black Hand, approached his faithful steed. She dipped her head to meet his hand and he stroked her forehead before addressing the second shadow in the paddock, "You are far from the Sanctuary tonight, Vicente."

The shadow's pointed teeth flashed as he smiled and stepped forward from where he had been standing, a respectful distance from the mare's hooves and teeth. "How was the meeting?"

Lucien's brow descended, "Business as usual." And Sithis take them when that course of action came back to bite them. "Has Maria returned to the Sanctuary?" he asked. Vicente shook his head. Lucien continued to pay his attentions to Shadowmere as he thought. This was not unexpected. And he was all too certain as to the reason. More evidence of their seemingly nonexistent threat. Fools. "You will tell Bellamont?"

Vicente nodded, "He will not take it well. But I believe he knew before we did that something was wrong."

The robed man nodded and continued the motions of his hand. Mathieu Bellamont. His reaction to this news would determine his future. He was a very promising assassin. But he'd grown close to Maria in past months. If he could retain his composure when faced with news of her disappearance and her likely death, then there was little doubt he was ready for advancement to the Black Hand. But that advancement required a vacuum. Hm, Blanchard was getting on in years. Perhaps it was time Lucien retired his Silencer and took Bellamont in his place. Something to consider carefully. Given the progression of things, they would need the best and brightest at easy reach in the days to come.

"There is a family member in Leyawiin who requires a transfer. A Khajiit mage by the name of M'raaj Dar. Cheydinhal was selected to accommodate the action. I have been told he has a temper. I expect you to make it clear that, in our Sanctuary, we will not permit the sort of incidents that made this transfer necessary."

Vicente nodded. The vampire had served the Brotherhood for over two centuries, even spending many years as a Speaker on the Black Hand before retiring to Cheydinhal to train members. Thus, he had a great deal of experience keeping order within the family. Whatever problem had forced this family member from his Sanctuary would not occur in Cheydinhal. Of that Lucien was certain.

Lucien continued, "But, I take it you were not waiting here just to inform me of an unchanged situation."

Vicente's teeth flashed again, "No. There is a potential recruit in the area. I thought you might wish to take a look."

The Speaker's motions paused. With members disappearing and the suspicious murders, recruitment was all the more vital. But he would decide if this one would have the honor of being placed in his Sanctuary, or if he would merely pass them off to one of the others. Lucien was choosy in regards to his assassins and only took the very best. The strongest, the cleverest, the most murderous.

Although, if Vicente Valtieri was personally presenting the recruit, it was likely for good reason. The vampire had trained Lucien since he was a boy, newly entered into the Brotherhood. He had honed the young Lachance into the Speaker he now was. And so Vicente knew his preferences. "The name?"

Vicente Valtieri motioned westward, "Let me show you." Lucien gave him a warning look, which normally had the offender leaping to make amends. But the vampire just laughed, as it was an expression he had taught the Speaker years ago. "Please, Lucien. Allow an old vampire his reveal."

Lucien drew himself up. Then turned to Vicente Valtieri, "Very well. Lead the way." The vampire bowed his head and led his Speaker out of the stables and into the wilderness, the mare following obediently behind.

They passed through the forest in silence. Their chosen field naturally favored the quiet and they were the epitome of their profession, neither boots nor hooves giving much sign of their passing. Lucien was the one to break their silence upon taking account of where their path was leading, "If you are taking me to the cave upriver, I'm afraid you may be wasting our time. Ungolim has already sent his Silencer to investigate the fugitives there and has deemed them unfit for recruitment."

The vampire turned his head slightly to respond, "And I agree with our Listener's judgment. But we are not going to see them. Rather, we are going to see the one coming for them. I've arranged a contract with the Fighters Guild to have them killed."

Lucien Lachance scoffed, "You can't be serious."

Vicente replied, "I am. Specifically, I paid them to send a particular person to find them. It is she who we are going to observe. I think if you see her in action, you will understand my interest."

The Speaker's lips thinned in distaste. Fighters Guild, nothing but honor, battle and open combat. Not the sort that traditionally attracted the attentions of the Dark Brotherhood. The Brotherhood naturally preferred those who were stealthy and cunning and some degree of homicidal. Although, there were always exceptions. Lucien could only hope this proved more than a brief excursion in the forest. "I trust you did not spend Brotherhood gold on this little arrangement."

Vicente chuckled, "Of course not. This is completely of my own funds. But I believe the cost will be worth the opportunity to show you her abilities firsthand."

They continued on in silence until Vicente indicated they were near and that their destination lay just over the ridge. Lucien passed a few whispered words into the ear of Shadowmere that she should remain where she was. By his words, the black mare would not move from where she stood. Perfectly obedient.

The assassins crept up and over the hill, then down the slope to settle wordlessly into a perfect pocket of darkness with sight of a cave entrance. The fugitives were doubtless inside awaiting their now imminent death, not even aware they'd already been discovered by several assassins and soon a Fighters Guild member. At least Lucien hoped it would be soon. No recruitment stood in the way of contracts. And he had little time to wait around, even if Vicente had made the request.

Some time later, Vicente touched his Speaker's arm and motioned toward the river. Lucien's night vision was not on par with the vampire's, so it took him a moment more to notice the slight disturbances in the foliage as someone approached.

She was stealthy, he'd give her that. She might even have been mistaken for one of the Brotherhood if it wasn't for her weaponry. Only a Fighters Guild member would carry a bow and three blades: dagger, shortsword and longsword. But no shield. Cocky for a Fighters Guild member; overly armed for an assassin. And she carried them all as though it were a regular part of her uniform.

She drew nearer and he discerned more about her: Imperial for the most part, some Redguard in her face and body structure, mid-twenties, fairly attractive, smaller than average, slender but strong. A body inclined toward stealth but built into a warrior. Interesting. She wore leather armor that whispered less than the leaves as she moved. She was light on her feet and constantly scanning her surroundings, searching for some sign of threat or foe. Attentive. A useful quality in an assassin.

They watched as she made her way through the foliage, slipping from shadow to shadow, hardly stirring a leaf as she moved toward the cave. Then, several feet from the entrance, she abruptly sidestepped and nearly vanished into the shadows of the forest. Something must have startled her. Perhaps she suspected an enemy on guard outside or just within the cave. Caution. Another useful quality in an assassin.

She remained crouched and drew her glass shortsword from its sheath without a sound: a feat developed only through frequent practice. Lucien watched as she scanned not only the area around the cave, but the entire forest. The moments ticked by as she continued her careful observation and Lucien's impatience flickered. He'd seen nothing to warrant the level of attention she paid to her surroundings. Perhaps overly cautious. A debilitating quality in an assassin.

Then her head snapped up and she looked straight at them. The instant she set eyes upon him, Lucien lost himself. He lost all train of thought and command of his limbs. The world around him became inconsequential. All he knew were the woman and her eyes.

So when she looked away and slipped through the cavern's entrance, he lacked the capacity to do anything but follow after. Lucien had little sense of his surroundings, save for his proximity to the woman. He cast chameleon upon himself but through no conscious thought and it was only force of habit that he trod softly. Otherwise, Lucien would have followed on her heels in full view looking like some lost pup. Not that she seemed unaware of his presence. With what little thought he could muster, Lucien had the impression that she merely chose not to acknowledge him and permitted him to observe her.

So he followed, shadowing her, observing every movement, watching as one by one she sliced the cords of mortality and cast each soul into the Void. He remained close as she picked the bodies clean of what she wanted with no more remorse an she'd shown mercy, and all the way out of the cavern and down to the shore. And in all that time, Lucien remained a willing prisoner of his own mind, for which the woman served as both bars and key.

The weighted stagnance of his mind was disturbed when an unfamiliar shadowy figure broke from the surroundings and approached her unseen. Lucien tensed and reached for his weapon, his entire being now driven by a single all-consuming word: protect.

Before Lucien could act, the woman spun and laid her would be assailant out on the ground. Her knife was at his throat just as fast.

"DAMMIT GRAY!"

Her exclamation broke through whatever had seized control of Lucien's mind. He found himself standing nearly in the open, hand on his blade, dead set on killing any who threatened her…and no idea why.

She knew the thief who had snuck up on her, none other than the Gray Fox, and the thief seemed to mean her no harm. This relieved Lucien for no fathomable reason which in turn gave him the ability to remove himself from her vicinity and beat a hurried retreat. He needed distance between himself and her in order to figure out what had happened to him. What she had done to him. Lucien did not stop until he was well out of reach but not quite out of sight. It was here Lucien realized his hand was still wrapped around his sword. He stared at it as though it were some alien thing and then had to consciously remove each finger before the blade dropped to his side.

What had she done to him? A spell? An entrapment? Some sort of trance? Lucien had never come across anything so strong and overwhelming. And while it had released him, he wasn't free of it. Beneath the re-founded strength of his mind, there was still an insistent concern over this stranger's welfare. What had she done to him?

Vicente Valtieri appeared at his side, "I will admit, I was not expecting that last. The Gray Fox. But I can't say I'm surprised. So, what did you think?"

Lucien clenched his teeth and forced himself to calm down. The vampire had made no mention of Lucien's trance. Sithis willing, it had gone unnoticed. But he was expecting some answer. Lucien inhaled and considered. Odd how he'd lacked command of his mind and body, but everything Lucien had witnessed was still vividly clear. He would have expected that kind of spell to leave his memory clouded. And the woman had shown…an affinity for their methods, at least.

"I can understand your interest," Lucien replied. "But…she warrants further observation." Because he needed answers. He needed to know exactly what she'd done to him so that he could remove all remnants and ensure that it never happened again.

Vicente ruminated, "I can arrange for Teinaava to take up Antoinetta's training so that I can continue to follow her and—"

"No," Lucien said sharply. He bit down on the haste of his response, as well as the infuriating surge of protective instinct that came with it. "I will do this myself. You will return to the Sanctuary."

"What of the contracts?" Vicente inquired. Lucien had learned the particulars of his mentor over the years as much as the vampire had learned his. Vicente knew Lucien was concealing something.

Lucien did not give him the affirmation of a defensive glare, "I will see to them in due time. You will return to the Sanctuary."

That effectively ended the conversation. Vicente departed shortly thereafter for the city. He would have to feed before dawn if he was to travel quickly in daylight and reach the Sanctuary with all haste.

Mercifully, the woman had moved out of Lucien's sight and the remnants of her…effect on him became dormant as a result. He knew better than to assume it was gone. Lucien took a few minutes to focus and harden himself; to restore the mental defenses he had spent so many years drilling into his mind. He wouldn't get answers if she turned him tranquil again at first glance. Then he looked south over the river. Having heard enough of her and the Gray Fox's conversation, he knew where they would end up. He would wait there and then look for an opportunity to learn what he wanted to know. And hopefully not fall prey to her again.

XXX

Waiting was not normally so agonizing. Patience was imperative for a successful assassin. Lucien had trained for this, spent hours at a time watching the world pass around him for no more reason than to call his impatience to heel. And yet now, seated in the shadow of the wizard's tower, Lucien found himself anxiously tapping the hilt of his blade.

Lucien stilled his hand and took up his meditations for what seemed like the hundredth time. There was no reason to be nervous. He'd heard them planning their heist. The path would lead her out through these doors. She wouldn't expect Lucien to be here. He'd wait until she was alone, and then…he still didn't know how to get close without chancing being enspelled again. That was what had him anxious: the chance of turning into a puppet again. It was not her. He had convinced himself of that. He was not worried about her…in the tower…being pursued by guards and that mage….Lucien's finger started tapping again.

An hour or so before sunset, the Gray Fox appeared and took up a mirror of Lucien's position on the other side of the road where he too settled in to watch the tower's entrance. Which meant they'd carried out their plan and she was somewhere beneath them on her way to the tower. The Gray Fox seemed unaware of his counterpart, but Lucien felt no need to announce his presence. So they both waited, eyes on the door, watching for her to appear.

As the last of the sun vanished through the trees, there was a commotion to be heard from within the walls. Lucien tensed and found his hilt again. The minutes ticked by like eons until the doors to the tower opened…to reveal no one. The Gray Fox dashed from his hiding place and was half way to the tower before Lucien discerned the small disturbances of grass and dirt: footsteps of someone unseen. When the Gray Fox became laden by empty air, Lucien realized she must be injured. The drive to protect welled too fast and strong for him to resist it. It carried him to his feet and out onto the path as the Gray Fox turned and bore his burden into the forest where he vanished from sight just as a great hulking behemoth of a beast came out of the tower doors.

It was massive, scaled and spiked, standing erect on two legs with its toothy maw open and salivating. The creature's tail lashed to counterbalance as its massive head swiveled, nostrils flaring to catch the scent of prey. Daedroth were known to be stupid, but it would easily catch up with the thieves and tear them limb from limb unless it had something else to chase. Common sense called Lucien to use this opportunity to remove the source of his weakness. Instead, he took further steps out onto the path and drew his blade from its sheath.

The creature's conjurer came bolting out the door shouting at his beast. They both caught sight of Lucien at the same time. "No one steals from Fathis Aren!" the mage roared and his daedroth lumbered forward with jaws wide and claws outstretched. Lucien waited until the last moment before sidestepping the daedra's clumsy rake. Then sprinted toward the mage. The assassin knew how to deal with conjurers and their summoned creatures. No summoning lasted beyond the life of its caster.

The Dunmer realized his danger and desperately threw a fireball in an attempt to engulf him. Lucien avoided the attack and took the last steps between them. Then closed his hand around the mage's throat and used his grip as leverage to insert his sword into the weak binding under the arm of his dwarven cuirass. The Dunmer's eyes went wide as he felt the blade pierce both lungs while the sounds of the daedroth faded as it was dragged back to Oblivion while the summoning soul flickered. Lucien smiled cruelly as blood trickled down the hilt and onto the hand that held it, "It is good then that I am no thief." Lucien twisted his weapon and snuffed out the last of the life. When the body went limp, he let it fall to the ground. Another soul for the Void.

In this case, the death was unfulfilling. It had just distracted him long enough to lose the true object of his interest. Lucien wiped the blood from the sword then took off in the direction that the Gray Fox had fled. It took time to pick up the trail. The Gray Fox was a master thief for good reason. And Lucien spent all that time convincing himself he was not worried about her. He was not. He was worried about not learning how he'd been enspelled. He was not worried about her.

Lucien came on their camp just as the Gray Fox abandoned her. He belittled her accomplishment, belittled her skill. And it set Lucien's blood boiling. How dare he? Had she not gone in there for him? Had she not risked herself and come to harm for him? And now he was going to leave her alone and injured in the wilderness? Lucien snarled. He'd kill him for it. He'd give that thief a taste of suffering before letting him die for accusing her of…Sithis and damnation! It had happened again!

Lucien put a tree between himself and them. He set his back against the trunk and sank his fingers into the bark until his hands hurt. He had to get control. He had to fight this…thing that had infected him, turned him weak willed and…caring. He didn't care about her. She was a stranger. She meant nothing. He'd take her life himself if need be. That thought made Lucien want to run a sharp edge across his own throat. He cursed and sank his fingers deeper into the bark.

By the time he could think straight, the Gray Fox was gone and the woman was alone. Lucien trembled as he let go of his wooden lifeline and tried not to think of what damage he'd done to his hand holding onto it. He cast his eyes toward the camp where the woman was lying down, staring into the fire as though to glean some understanding from the flames while the light flickered across her features.

He should do it now. She was alone, tired, both physically and emotionally injured. He'd used such weaknesses a thousand times before. Now was the time to approach her and force her to reveal whatever enchantment she'd rooted in him. But Lucien remained unmoving, like bolts had been driven into his boots. He could move neither toward her, nor force himself away. The weight on his mind returned and Lucien could not shake himself free. All he could do was stand there and watch her. And watch over her. All the while with one word echoing in his mind: protect.

XXX

They approached the Chorrol city gates seven days and a thousand opportunities later. A thousand opportunities for Lucien to charm, threaten, intimidate, or trick her into revealing something. But every time Lucien even considered approaching her, in any manner, he would freeze on the spot and his tongue would become leaden. Every single time. It was enough to drive him mad.

As if he weren't already half way there from sleep deprivation. Lucien had barely slept a wink since that first night. Always struggling with whatever had a hold on him or fretting over the woman. And it never stopped. Day or night, whether she was asleep or riding down the road, nothing changed. No, that wasn't true. There were debilitating surges of concern when she was out of sight. Surges that left him nearly frantic and utterly outraged with himself for being so weak-willed as to be caught by this thing she'd done to him. Whatever it was. A daedric spell, an enchanted obsession.

He refused to believe it was anything but that. Because if it wasn't, that might mean Lucien actually cared about her. And there was no chance of that. Not the smallest amount. He was an assassin, a Speaker of the Dark Brotherhood. His concerns did not stray beyond the family, and certainly not in towards females. They were distracting. As this one clearly proved. And yet he could not walk away. He couldn't leave her, he couldn't approach her. He was trapped at arm's length and it was infuriating. The only relief he had was the slaying of what beasts and bandits he came across. And Lucien killed them to blunt his growing temper, not to clear a safe path for her. Her safety was absolutely not the reason.

She left her horse in the stables and entered the city, still favoring her injured leg. It should be enough to see her inside the walls. If her enchantment was all about protection, then this should be the end of it. Chorrol was a clean city, not even the Dark Brotherhood had a foothold here. She hadn't been out of sight for two minutes before Lucien's heart was pounding hard against his ribs. Sithis and damnation! Lucien dropped out of the saddle and stalked after her.

He scanned the plaza inside and spotted her...supported by a young Imperial man. Lucien glared poisoned daggers and felt inexplicably robbed. He refused to accept that he might wish to cross the plaza and take the man's place. But he certainly did not want that _boy_ touching her. Lucien followed at a discrete distance, fighting the urge to bleed that boy out on the street. The assassin did not follow them into the chapel, however. It eased him more than he'd admit to see her walk out with no sign of her pains. And aggravated him the same to see her proximity to the boy as they walked back down the street.

And when that boy asked her to accompany him to a Heart's Day celebration and she accepted, Lucien endured a flurry of emotions he could have sworn had been beaten out of him long ago. Why did he care? He shouldn't. He didn't. But even as he insisted, the declarations rang false.

It was for the best that she entered the Fighters Guild hall. He didn't like her being out of his sight. But her being out of sight inside her guildhall was a vast improvement on her being out of sight on the road. The security of her location gave Lucien some clarity of thought. Enough, at least, for him to refrain from gutting the boy as he passed. The little idiot thought himself a victor of sorts, and had no idea how closely he had avoided death.

Lucien turned from the Fighters Guild hall. He was not leaving the city tonight, that much was certain. If only to be certain she did not bed that boy. If that became even a remote possibility, Lucien was certain that nothing would keep him from killing the brat regardless of witnesses. He was just too emotionally caught up at this point.

Lucien paused midstride. That was it, wasn't it? He was emotionally invested. And deeply so. It had been so long since he'd had to concern himself with overcoming emotions. Since his first murder. He had trained himself against them early on in the Brotherhood. No attachments whatsoever. The mental distance made him an effective and ruthless assassin. Gave him focus. All the things that had allowed him to achieve his place on the Black Hand even before he was thirty. But now her spell had gotten under his mind, stirring up the emotions he'd long since locked away. Lucien frowned as he began walking again. He might not be able to fight her spell, but he could fight his own mind. Whatever the cause, he could fight these symptoms at least.

He went to the local inn and tavern and took a seat that would afford him full view of the first floor while keeping him out of plain sight. Like the heist, he knew where she would end up. Before long, the proprietor and her staff had forgotten about him entirely. A result of his own abilities and their anxious preparations. Lucien breathed deep focused on his meditations, bottling the emotions the spell had woken in him. If he could get control of these, perhaps he could shake her hold entirely. He just had to get control.

Hours passed and the inn began to fill with people come for their celebration. She arrived in the company of some who must be her guildmates. Lucien saw her and his observation took on a new intensity. And not only because that boy was there and keeping close to her elbow. She was wearing a flattering blue and green dress that, unlike her armor, revealed her womanhood. Like a puff of smoke, the hours of meditation were for nothing.

Lucien watched her, unable to look away. He was losing himself. The emotions came in waves, catching and carrying him along. He could no longer tell what was the spell and what was him. And he _felt_ more strongly than he had in his life. She sat amidst her comrades, all of them laughing and smiling. Envy. The proprietor paid her particular attention for a moment. Suspicion. Some other youth, a farmer by the look, came up to the table and asked her to dance. Rage, coupled with a brief fantasy of wrapping his hand around the farm-boy's throat and the other boy's as well, wringing one neck in each hand. She accepted and let him put a hand upon her waist. Jealousy. She danced and twirled around the room, the grace and strength she'd killed with now being turned to the spirit of the celebration, being passed from hand to hand. Defensive. Possessive. Protective.

She finally returned to her seat and he watched her two suitors attempting to outdo each other, the farm-boy sweet talking her and the city-boy resorting to purchasing a bottle of Cyrodiilic brandy in an attempt to impress. Lucien was fighting for the last strands of his self-restraint at this point. In fact, the only reason he kept his seat was that she showed neither of them any particular attention. The assassin tried to focus on her to avoid striding across the room and striking them down where they sat.

She was relaxed, her smile and laughter coming easier with each touch of the glass to her lips. Why was he so interested? What about her drew his attention so desperately? He couldn't understand it. Her looks? Her skill with her weapons? The way she killed? The way she curled her hair behind her right ear when embarrassed? Or how she ran her left hand through her hair when searching for a word or phrase? How her laughter came in bursts, be they giggles or exclamations? How, when she was at ease, she curled her toes tight and she arced her feet to rest the tops of them on the floor? He couldn't understand it.

The game tested the last of his self-control. She was led up and blindfolded, then her companion fled back to her seat leaving the woman alone for her turn at the game.

"Spin Sharah!"

Sharah. Her name was Sharah. Sweet Night Mother, he hadn't even bothered to wonder after her name. Sharah. Lucien allowed the word to pass his lips like the whisper of a dying breath. It sent a shiver up his spine.

She was kissed. Repeatedly. The first few were innocent enough. Lucien forced himself to breath and remain where he was. She chose to play the game, after all. Then the city-boy took his turn and pressed his mouth to hers. Lucien went rigid and his hand curled into a tight knuckled fist. The last strands of control were snapping free. And when the farm-boy took her in his arms, dipped her and kissed her, Lucien was on his feet in a minute, rage written in every fiber of his being. How dare he?! How dare he touch her like that! And she was clinging to him and…was she kissing him back? Lucien's blood went cold, then white hot. He was moving before he even knew it. And he wasn't the only one. But he was the furthest out of reach.

The city-boy grabbed his rival by the collar and dragged him off her, then struck him across the face. The fight was inevitable. Between the idiots and their motivation, Lucien's choice was clear. Protect. The two rivals went at each other frantically. Before Lucien even reached them, they were joined by two more who were approximately the same age and bore family resemblances. And those two were closely followed by a number of others rushing to separate the brawlers.

Lucien weaved between the bodies, smooth as quicksilver, straight to the object of his attention who was still sprawled on the floor. He snatched her out of harm's way and rushed her away before the fighting overtook them. Sharah followed willingly, tucked under his arm and dependent on his guidance and support with every step.

He got them out of the tavern and led her through the streets, hugging the shadows and avoiding lamplight. Only when the noise had dimmed did Lucien finally slow and pause, looking back to spy any possible pursuit. The last thing he wanted was for someone to follow and find them…alone…together…out of sight…

The assassin inclined his head slowly to look upon the burden in his arms. By the Void, what had he done? He…And she was…What had he done?

His head came up fast, just to avoid looking at her. If he could just keep from looking at her, try to distance himself from the source of his madness. Nevermind that she was fit against his body like she belonged there. That she breathed against him and clung to him. Lucien just needed to think. He needed to clear his mind and breathe and think.

He closed his eyes and inhaled, trying to quell the torrent of thoughts and emotions. Sharah might have dispelled his meditations by just walking in the door, but he had to try something. Lucien inhaled again…and again...her scent filling his lungs. The next breath had nothing to do with clearing his mind and everything to do with breathing her in. He lowered his chin and inhaled again.

Her scent was intoxicating, calming him as his meditations had failed to do and he felt the familiar tranquil weight falling on his mind. Lucien took another breath, acutely aware of how close she was and how much she leaned against him. She smelled like something wild. Like an untamed wilderness, crystal clear and with a metallic undertone of blood. He breathed again, taking her in deep as though she were his air. Very nearly. With each breath his mind cleared of the flustering emotions and thoughts that plagued him. There was only Sharah and for once, he didn't care to fight it.

Lucien felt her shift against him and opened his eyes to see her reaching for the blindfold she still wore. His hand leapt out and snatched her wrist before she could touch it because…Sweet Mother, he didn't know. He had no control over himself. He…didn't want her to see him weak and…her hands were so small and delicate. So were her eyebrows as they knit together in frustration. Lucien's eyes trailed down the bridge of her nose, discerned the flush in her cheeks, to the naturally pink shade of her full lips. An odd thought occurred to him: with her scent so lovely, what would she taste like?

He was at her lips before he could think. They were firm for a moment as the kiss had surprised her, but her lips softened quickly as she eased against him. He needed more. More contact. Lucien slipped his hand into her hair. He needed her closer. The hand still on her waist pulled her against him and he felt her every curve, every inch of her body against his.

Then he slipped his tongue along her lips. He needed to taste her. Now.

She parted her lips for him and he went in deep, taking, touching, tasting like he'd gone feral. He was right. Her taste had him absolutely heady. He couldn't seem to stop himself. Every instant she was on his tongue made him want more, like he'd never be satisfied.

Through the tangle in their mouths he barely noticed his leg slip between her knees. Only that she still wasn't close enough. He wanted to touch her everywhere, mark her as his, be inside her and not just at the mouth. And when it was over, he wanted to take her to the stables and ride out with her. He wanted to keep her close at all times, never out of his sight. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to protect her.

All at once, the weight lifted. Lucien drew back in surprise, breaking their contact. The alien drive and infuriating effect that had constricted around his mind for the last week was quite suddenly gone. Lucien's mind was his own again. But the revelation remained. He wanted to protect her.

His abrupt withdrawn did not go over well with her. Sharah advanced after him, mouth open and eager. Lucien tightened his grip in her hair to restrain her. He needed to think. She mewed insistently and rolled her hips against his. It almost undid him. He could feel himself throbbing for her. But he had to think. Lucien pressed his lips to her temple to keep from going back to her lips and adjusted his body to keep from being tempted by what else she had offered. If he kissed her again, Lucien wouldn't be able to stop himself from taking her right here. She moaned in defeat but subsided.

Lucien held her, gentle as any lover. He'd lost himself and didn't care. With her against him, his arms around her, Lucien felt strong. Powerful. Capable of matching himself against the world if it was for her.

He stood, breathing her in for a while. What was he to do now? This sort of attachment had never been a possibility for him. He'd never planned for anything even remotely like this. He had this desire to keep her with him, always in sight. But that was out of the question. He couldn't just steal her away on Shadowmere. She'd be missed and likely searched for. And what would he even tell her when she woke? That he was an assassin who had recently become obsessed with her, but she needn't fear him because he was going to protect her? There was no explanation he could give her as to why he was so driven by her welfare. He couldn't even explain it to himself.

He could recruit her into the Dark Brotherhood. She'd certainly shown herself capable enough. She would be safe in his Sanctuary, protected by the Tenets, and he would have every excuse to keep a close watch over her. Lucien stiffened. There was a threat looming over the Brotherhood. He couldn't bring her into the Sanctuary with something like that hanging over their heads. If he could not keep his own assassins secure, he would not on his life risk her.

And the Black Hand…Thanks to Ungolim's competitive policies, the Speakers were driven to outdo each other. And if they learned of Lucien's attachment nothing would stop them from using her against him at the first opportunity. Lucien rested his cheek against her head. As much as it pained him, she was safest where she was. He wanted her with him, and he wanted her protected. But he couldn't have both, at least for now.

A particularly deep breath drew his attention entirely back to her. She was leaning quite heavily against him. She needed rest. Lucien gathered her in his arms and lifted her off the ground. She relaxed, trusting herself to him completely. A profound gesture of faith that made Lucien's heart swell.

He carried her through the streets and alleyways still favoring the shadows, until he reached the Fighters Guild hall. Her home, where she would be surrounded by those who cared about her, if not as much as he. It was good there was no Sanctuary in Chorrol or he would have been tempted to take her there.

Lucien carried her inside and up to the second floor, grateful there was no one around to ask questions. He picked out her bed by the blue glass shortsword hanging on the bedpost and set her down with all the care he could muster. Still allowing her to lean on him, Lucien removed the blindfold from around her eyes and slipped it into his pocket. Then began to remove the pins in her hair, the arrangement of which was now in disarray thanks to his earlier attentions.

He'd have to be careful. He couldn't bring her into the family until he was sure she would be safe there. That meant outmaneuvering the Black Hand. And Sithis knew that would take some doing. Not to mention this hidden threat. Lucien would have to pursue that as well. Make certain the Sanctuaries were secure by the time she called them home.

It was several minutes before Lucien realized all the pins were out and he was just sitting there running his fingers through her hair, which now fell like waves of sun burnt sand over his hand. He needed to leave. Now. Or risk being locked at her side again. Lucien lowered her down onto the bed and removed her sandals, touching the scars on her ankle before drawing the blanket over her.

He wished he were more certain she would be safe when he was gone, and well when he came back. And then there was that slight pain to think that she might not need him at all. Lucien reached out and lifted a stray lock of hair away from her face. He wanted to be the one to protect her. He wanted her to need him and his protection.

The slam of a door downstairs brought Lucien back to reality. He stood away from her bedside and cast his spell of chameleon, fading into a dark patch of the room as an angry Dunmer man took the stairs two at a time. He strode into the bedchambers and glared balefully around. Lucien's hand fell to his blade. He recognized him from the inn. Lucien did not want to fight this mer. The assassin knew immediately that he was strong, fast, and dangerous. But if he proved a threat to Sharah in any way…

The unspoken warning proved unnecessary. The moment the Dunmer spotted her asleep on the bed, his aggressive stature deflated. He'd been worried. Doubtless because Sharah had effectively disappeared when the brawl started. The mer stepped up to her bedside, checking that she was truly alright, and then went about tucking her in, following the motions of a concerned and protective father. Lucien recognized the type. More often they were obstacles to the Speaker's work, but in this case he considered the mer an advantage. Lucien could trust this mer to protect her, almost as much as he himself would.

His concerns alleviated, Lucien utilized the mer's distraction to depart unnoticed. Shadowmere lifted her head in greeting and stood solid as he mounted. He had contracts to see to and now the added tasks of finding a way to defend a potential family member against the Black Hand and seek the threat that was gnawing away at the Brotherhood. Lucien really didn't know where to start. But he knew the effort would be well worth it. Sharah was vitally important to him, regardless of why. So what more reason did he need to keep her safe?

**Alright, review before you go. Especially if you read the other one and you have an opinion on this one. Thanks for reading.**


	9. In the Light of Day

**Moving onward.** **I do not own Oblivion, or Elder Scrolls, or any of these characters except for my OC (do I really have to keep saying this? yeah, probably). ONWARD!**

_Sharah sat alone on the floor within her childhood home, her infant legs not developed enough to sustain mobility. She looked around the dark of her house desperately for her parents and spotted her mother sitting at the dining table, manipulating a black garbed doll and looking pleasantly surprised. As though something had happened that she hadn't expected but she chose not to rectify it. She wasn't quite how Sharah remembered. This time her mother had azure blue skin and pointed ears. But it was her mother. _

_Sharah squirmed and gurgled. And when her mother to looked up Sharah reached out, grasping with her chubby little hands, begging to be picked up. But when her mother made no move to oblige, tears sprang to Sharah's eyes and her lip started trembling. Didn't her mother love her? Didn't she want her? The sobbing welled up in Sharah's throat as she threatened to break into an all-out wail for her mother's affections. But her mother just smiled gently and shook her head, "Not yet, my daughter. You're not ready yet." That was not what Sharah wanted to hear. She wanted her mother now! She took a deep breath to scream as tears course down her face and…_

…Woke up, brought out of Vaermina's realm with a fierce pounding in her head. Sharah groaned. It felt like Oreyn was inside her skull, swinging his mace around with far too much zeal. Damn, how much did she drink last night? Then she realized her pillow was damp, and her cheeks were wet. She was crying? Why? Sharah tried simultaneously to rub the pain out of her skull and wipe away the tears, which seemed to just keep coming for absolutely no reason. She rolled over and reached out to feel across the mattress until her fingers found the edge of the bed. For whatever reason that set the tears off anew. Was she expecting someone to be there?

Sharah curled up and stubbornly clamped her palms over her eyes, willing the crying and the throbbing to stop. Not that it did any good. It had to be the dream she'd had. Why else would she wake up crying? If she could just remember it, maybe she could find a way to fight down this sadness. But it was like morning mist being burned away before the sun, vanishing even as she clasped for it. Something about her home…? The old nightmare. Vaermina's realm indeed. Perhaps it was better she couldn't recall all the details. Probably explained why she'd woken up reaching for comfort.

Damn this headache! She couldn't get a straight thought through her head. Sharah kicked off her blankets angrily and swung upright to put her feet on the floor…and immediately regretted it. Being upright just redoubled the pain. She swayed for an instant and dropped her head into the fabric between her knees. Fabric? Oh, she was still wearing a dress. Must have been too tired to change once back at the guildhall. At least she got her shoes off. The cold wood floor under her feet gave Sharah something else to focus on.

And the tears just kept coming. What was wrong with her? The nightmare was over. Her Mara's flow must be right around the corner. She always got emotional around that time. Sharah sat like that for a while, grinding the tears from her eyes using her hem until they finally stopped coming and she could focus on getting on with the day. The next step of which was standing up. Once she could manage to do that, then she'd worry about remembering what in Oblivion had happened last night. Sharah groaned again. The first attempt to rise landed her right back on the bed with a thump. Damn! She was never drinking anything ever again. Ever!

Sharah's eyes fell on the pink vial sitting on her bedside table: the healing draught for her injuries. She didn't think twice but grabbed it, yanked off the cork and drained the bottle with a grimace. It didn't do anything for her head, but it headed off the ache in her healings that was just making itself known. Sharah put the bottle back by the little pile of hairpins, thankful she'd managed to get them out before collapsing, and made another attempt at standing up. A slight waver, but this time she didn't fall.

Still nursing her aching head, the woman managed to paw through her trunk and accumulate her accustomed leathers and some bathing material. When she caught sight of a window, a light curse passed her lips. Not even sunrise. Couldn't she sleep in a little bit? Passing her sleeping guildmates while walking toward the stairs, Sharah took inventory: Sabine snoring like a bear, Kurz collapsed with his head at the wrong end of his bed, Lashana and Ashtus clothed but intertwined on her mattress. Sharah felt a little weight in her stomach when she saw them but shoved it down. She should be happy they wouldn't be waking up alone. Cargas and Eduard were missing. It wasn't hard to guess where Cargas was at, but she wasn't too sure about the new boot. Wait…he'd been with Viranus Donton last night. Oh, right. Well that was probably it.

Sharah briefly mourned the absence of Cargas's natural remedy for hangovers before making her way to the baths. Being this early, she chanced a full bath even with the chance her guildmates might stumble in. Sharah gasped as she plunged into the cold water but gritted her teeth as it numbed some of the pain in her head at least.

She relaxed back into the tub briefly and put her head to recalling the previous night. Sharah'd rather not have any surprises once her guildmates were up and talking. Once, after one of her rare drinking binges, Sabine had been convinced for a while that she'd streaked though a chicken coop. Then subsequently chased Lashana twice around the city while the Redguard laughed like mad over the success of her fib. Funny as hell, but not something Sharah wanted to experience for herself.

So she closed her eyes and put her mind to clearing away the haze from her memories. She remembered being talked into dancing, brandy (Divines-damned brandy more like), Steal a kiss…Sharah's cheeks warmed. Someone had kissed her. Really kissed her. It was all sort of fuzzy but she remembered his hand and his lips, and touches that reached deeper than the skin. But she couldn't remember his face or his voice. Probably because the game kept her blindfolded. But if he'd kissed her like she remembered it, why hadn't she taken the blindfold off?

She lingered on the memories, letting the ghost of his touch raise goosebumps on her skin. How he'd wrapping his arms around her and the two of them flying…That stopped her up short. That wasn't right. She definitely remembered feeling very light and her feet leaving the ground. It was so hazy though. Like a dream. But it had been real…right?

Sharah grumbled, her confusion over it all driving away the pleasant tingles that the recollection had brought up. She had definitely played Steal a Kiss, and she did remember dreaming about her home last night. But everything between those two…she couldn't tell figment from reality. Had someone really kissed her like that, or was it a blissful product of her imagination? Damn the brandy, she couldn't trust her own head.

She had to know, one way or another. Couldn't ask her guildmate though. They'd tell her she'd been smooching every man in the Mare. Oh, she really hoped that hadn't been the case. Emfrid; she'd know. That Nord knew everything that happened in her tavern. She'd tease Sharah to no end about whatever had happened, but it would be all truth. And a kiss like that, even in a Heart's Day game, would not go unnoticed. Maybe Emfrid would remember what he looked like, or his name. Or Sharah might just embarrass herself by revealing she'd dreamed up something so…intimate. Sharah hustled through the rest of her bath as fast as her still aching head would allow and was soon on her way to the Gray Mare.

Emfrid was awake, as usual, and orchestrating the cleanup of the night's festivities with a few yawning employees. Sharah wondered, not for the first time, when this woman found the time to sleep. Not that she was complaining. Emfrid always seemed available whenever Sharah needed her.

"Emfrid," Sharah called to her.

The Nord spun around and a relieved smile spread across her face, "Sharah! Thank Stendarr. I was a little worried. All that ruckus and you just vanished. I'm so glad you're alright. You are alright?"

Sharah nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine. A headache but…" Sharah paused when she realized exactly what she was about to ask. She was asking after a possibly fictitious man in a romantic sense. Sharah didn't court. She wasn't interested in courting…But she really wanted to know who had kissed her. If someone actually had and it hadn't been some twisted brandy dream concocted by Sanguine and Vaermina. She lowered her voice, "Emfrid, did…did I kiss anyone last night?"

Emfrid actually grinned, "Honey, you were playing Steal a Kiss. Of course you were kissing people. Or at least, they were kissing you."

Sharah shook her head, trying to come up with some way to ask without actually giving details, "I mean, did any of them stand out?"

Emfrid smiled and began collecting mugs from the tables, purposefully remaining nonchalant and drawing out her answer, "Well, there was Modryn Oreyn, Norus Quarro from the guard, the Bruiant boy, that rogue Wallace. And then, of course…Guilbert and Rallus."

Sharah followed behind the Nord as she worked and talked, matching names and faces with what she remembered. But none of them fit with her mystery man. "No one else?" she asked tentatively.

Emfrid gave Sharah a look, "You wanted more?"

"No. I was just… That was it? There wasn't anyone else?"

The Nord shook her head as she made her way back behind the counter, "No. After the fight broke up I think you left."

Sharah took a seat on a stool, "I…went back to the guildhall. I'm just trying to get last night straight." She crossed her arms on the counter and rested her chin upon them while Emfrid started talking about something.

Should have known something like that was too good to be true. After the brandy and being so tired, who knew what her head would come up with? And she'd felt so completely safe and protected with him. That should have been the giveaway. She hadn't felt like that since the day she'd first left home. Not in any guildhall she'd been in or with any person she'd met in her travels. The only place she'd ever felt that safe was in her dreams, right before they turned into nightmares. Where else could she come up with someone who made her feel like that? Better she didn't remember seeing him burn alongside her family. No wonder she woke up crying.

Emfrid was still going on, "…went off like a bull. He's so soft spoken most of the time, no one saw it coming. I swear those two were about ready to tear each other apart. Throw in one brother with a temper, another who's a drunk, and I'm surprised it didn't turn out worse."

Sharah raised her head, "I'm sorry, Emfrid. What was that?"

The Nord leaned one arm on the counter and the other on her hip like a scolding mother, "Have you been listening to a word I've said?"

The young woman ran a hand over her face, "I'm still a little out of it. Just try it again. I'm listening now."

"Rallus and Guilbert," Emfrid said, looking exceptionally exasperated, "After last night, you're going to have to do something."

"About what?"

"About them! They started a tavern brawl over Steal a Kiss. It's exceptionally romantic, but you need to make a choice before they really hurt themselves."

"Who?"

Emfrid pronounced each name definitively, like it meant something, "Rallus and Guilbert!"

"What about them?" Sharah asked, speaking the words with Emfrid's exact over-articulation.

Emfrid gaped, "Are you teasing me?" Sharah stared blankly and the Nord's mouth dropped open, "You aren't, are you? Oh, sweet Mara, you weren't teasing them either, were you?"

Sharah reared her head back, "Tease? Emfrid what are you talking about?"

The woman's hand went to her mouth and she took a rapid set of paces around behind the counter, suddenly unable to keep still. When she finally calmed down Emfrid came back to look very seriously at her young friend. Emfrid leaned in and said quietly, "Guilbert Jemane and Rallus Odiil are smitten, honey."

"By who?"

"By you!" Emfrid practically shrieked, drawing looks from all her employees and scaring awake a drunk who was slumped over a table.

Sharah smiled gently, "Emfrid, are you sure you didn't just drink a little too much last night?"

"I'd have to have been drinking the last few months to miss this. I mean, really. How do you make it through a day if you couldn't even see this? You're practically courting them both!"

Sharah tried to calm her, "I'm not courting anyone. Would you keep your voice down?"

Emfrid glared like a mother might, "All those nights you spent here with Guilbert?"

"And his brother," Sharah clarified, "And I spend just as much time here with my guildmates. Doesn't mean I'm courting any of them."

"And what about all those trips down to visit Rallus?" the Nord demanded.

"And his brother," Sharah repeated, "We fought goblins together. I just visit when I have to get out of the city and stretch my legs. Again, no courting. You're seeing something that's not there."

Emfrid folded her arms, "No, you're _not_ seeing something that _is_ there! And you're the only one. Barborya! Would you say Rallus Odiil and Guilbert Jemane are in love with Sharah?"

The Breton server nodded emphatically, "Absolutely, head over heels."

Emfrid glared back at Sharah, daring her to argue. Which she did, "Barborya works for you, of course she's gonna agree."

The Nord waved a finger in Sharah's face, "Now you listen here. And while I have no idea how you missed it, let me tell you exactly what's been going on while you've had your head buried somewhere in the ground. Every time you've been in here, whether you're with him or not, Guilbert almost always has his eyes on you. Why do you think he hadn't expressly forbade Reynald from drinking? He wants to see you. And Rallus? Whenever you're both in town he's at your elbow. I bet he's the same way when you make your little visits to his house. I thought you were just leading them both on. I should have known you'd never do something like that. But really! How could you not notice?"

"Emfrid—"

"Don't you 'Emfrid' me. And last night? They finally got up the nerve to do something and it turns into a brawl over…your honor, I'm sure." The Nord finally ran out of breath and stood straight with her hands on her hips, "So now you know. And if you don't believe me, or anyone who works for me, just ask around. Those two are not very good at keeping secrets."

Sharah sat, rather dumbfounded, unable to think of anything to say. She'd spent time with them, yes. But they were just friends. Or at least she thought so. Had she really just overlooked it? She wasn't interested in courting, but was she so disinterested that anything related just flew over her head? Looking back…all those little things started coming to the surface. Guilbert did stumble a little over his words when she met him unexpectedly. She just thought he was shy in public. And Rallus often invited her to patrol their farm while Antus remained behind. Sharah might have snorted if she wasn't so embarrassed with herself. Patrol? Had she really believed that?

"I don't…I…I'm not even…" What was she supposed to say? "Why didn't they say anything?"

Emfrid's expression gentled, "I thought they were making it painfully obvious."

"Painfully obvious?" They had, hadn't they? Everything short of saying it to her face. By the Nine, why hadn't they? Why hadn't she seen it? Sharah's head came to rest on the counter and she wrapped arms around it, trying to hide from the world long enough to at least come to grips with this entirely new situation. People wanted to court her?

Emfrid patted Sharah's arm, "It's not the end of the world, Sharah. Most people would see this as a good thing."

Sharah stood abruptly, "I…I need to think." And she bolted for the door.

Oreyn found her in the afternoon…of the following day. He walked the second floor passage to the guild tower. When he pushed open the trapdoor to the third floor, he startled Sharah out of the book she'd been reading.

The Dunmer took a moment to look around. A sleeping mat had been laid out along one side of the room, Sharah's mended boots beside it, along with a travel bag of food. Sharah had her back against a wall with a book in her hands and three more stacked on a chest, while Umbra rested on the floor by her hip, polished to a gleaming shine.

Sharah was wide eyed and silent as he took stock and then finally set his eyes on her, "What are you doing up here, Wolf?"

She almost cringed at the nickname, which now seemed like more of a blatant mockery given where she'd ended up. When she opened her mouth, the lie caught in her throat. She exhaled and finally admitted, "Hiding."

"Hm," Oreyn said and pulled himself the rest of the way into the room to take his accustomed seat on one of the chests. "From?"

"Everyone," Sharah said, staring blindly at the book in her hands.

Oreyn regarded the warrior turned child, "Your guildmates are worried about you. Cargas wanted to go out and search the woods. Thought you'd run off."

Sharah shook her head, although she'd consider this as close to running away as she was willing to allow herself. But it was still running and hiding. "Did you know?"

The Dunmer didn't have to ask what she meant, "Hard not to. Boys kept coming by the guildhall asking when you'd be back from your contracts. Got damned annoying after a while."

Sharah kept staring at the book. It was another moment before she said anything. "Sorry." She turned to look up at him, "Why didn't I notice?"

Oreyn replied, "Not important. What's important now is what you plan on doing next."

Sharah looked back at the book, still utterly overwhelmed with a whole torrent of thoughts and emotions. And they weren't confined to her new romantic interests. The thought of courting had opened up old wounds and emotions that she'd buried over four years ago. Things that even now threatened to overwhelm her.

Oreyn glanced around as though seeing the room for the first time, "You picked a hell of a spot to hide. I can't believe they didn't even think to look up here. Just figured you'd head outdoors, probably." Sharah's eyes dropped lower. Great, now she had the guilt of worrying her guildmates to add to it all. How was she supposed to face them, any of them, now? Oreyn let her mull through her thoughts for a minute, then asked, "So, what next?"

She glanced up, "Hm?"

"You're not hiding up here the rest of your days." He glanced at the things scattered around the room, "And from what I see, you're not doing much thinking." She dropped her eyes again. He'd talked to Emfrid. "You're gonna have to come out eventually. And however long that takes, those boys are still going to be there. So, what next?" Sharah didn't know the answer. She had quite stubbornly avoided trying to think of the answer to that question. Oreyn stood up, "Well, however long it takes, just be aware: you'll get no contracts until you talk to those boys."

Sharah balked, "What? Why?"

He looked down at her, "Because I won't have the Wolf driven to cowering because she can't pick a man."

"It's not that! I don't want to be courted at all!"

He glared at her, "Then tell them that. You've handled monsters and bandits, and stood before nobility. What scares you so much about this that you can't even face the interested parties?"

Sharah mouth bobbed open but she couldn't make herself answer. What was she supposed to say? She had no idea why this scared her so much. She didn't know what to do here. Having men interested in her for courting…it actually scared her. Not them, exactly. She could kick both their asses in a second. She was scared of what the courting meant later.

But what really scared her was how it tied in with this horrible thing from her past. The idea of courting was exactly what had driven her to run away from home. But this situation so resembled how her parents had met. How could she say 'no' when she might be giving up a chance at a life as happy as that of her parents? How could she say 'yes' without fearing that it meant her parents had died for nothing? Ultimately, all Sharah could think to do was shut it all away. She felt like a coward for doing it, and the sentiment must have shown on her face.

Oreyn said calmly, "When the Wolf gets back, have her set things straight with those boys. I'll have a job for her afterward." Another minute later and Sharah was once again alone with her thoughts. Although, this time, she didn't immediately bury herself in anything else.

She didn't want to face it. Any of it. She just…wasn't ready. Even now she could feel Umbra humming beside her, sensing this fissure buried beneath the surface of her mind. The soul's tendrils of consciousness reached out, trying to find a foothold in her pain. The Wolf in Sharah's mind snapped at it, warning the soul to stay down. That spark was enough to force the memories away. At least for the moment.

Sharah looked around the room and felt stupid. It wasn't really that scary. She was The Wolf. She could handle this…Sharah hugged her knees to her for another few seconds before going about packing up her hideaway. She'd just talk to them. Just like any other day. She'd tell them that she wasn't ready and that would be that. Then Sharah could forget this whole thing and go back to what she was used to. Hopefully Oreyn's assignment would take her far away for a while.

XXX

Guilbert Jemane trotted out of the city gates toward the North Country stables. His step was light despite the bruises that peppered his skin. He wore them with pride, more than happy to tell people exactly how and why he'd earned them. He was even more heartened when the reason in question had asked to meet him outside of town at sunset.

She sat on the fence looking out at the forest, illuminated by the light of the setting sun. Dibella herself would have been jealous. Guilbert was already rehearsing what he would say. He got a little tongue tied around her sometimes, especially when it was about something important. Not this time. This time it was going to come out right.

At least that was the intent until he saw who was with her. Then the entire rehearsed speech flew from his mind. When Guilbert got closer he demanded, "What are you doing here, Rallus?"

The farmer raised his chin and glared at him, "I don't have to explain myself to you."

"Both of you, shut up," Sharah snapped from her seat on the fence. She didn't normally take that tone with them and the two men fell quiet. "I asked both of you to be here because we need to talk." She spent a minute analyzing the blemishes on Guilbert's face, then comparing them to those on Rallus's, "You two really went at it, didn't you?"

The way she asked the question, Guilbert wondered if it was a mistake not to go to the healer.

"I wanted to talk to both of you at the same time so there's no hearsay," Sharah took a deep breath and repeated what sounded like her own rehearsed speech, "I'm not interested in courting either of you. If I gave you any impression otherwise, I apologize. I was unaware I was doing it and I will make a point not to do it in the future." She seemed visibly relieved to have said it out loud. The two men, on the other hand, were not.

"Wait, why?'

"Why not?"

Sharah glanced uncertainly between them, apparently unprepared for their resistance, "I'm just…not ready yet."

Rallus took a step toward her, "Well, when will you be ready?"

Her expression soured as Sharah realized the opening she'd left, "I don't know. Maybe a year, maybe ten, maybe never. Can't you just take the 'no' and be done with it?"

"No," they chorused, and the proceeded to glare at each other.

She scowled at them, "And enough of that! You two are not fighting over this. I make my own decisions. And I'm deciding to say 'no'. And that's the end of it." Sharah dropped off the fence and stalked back into the city, absolutely refusing to hear their arguments.

Guilbert and Rallus were left looking after her, their pride and long cultivated interest preventing them from taking her refusal at face value. They exchanged challenging looks once she was out of sight before Rallus walked off down the road toward his farm and Guilbert followed Sharah's path back inside the city.

The next morning a horse's hooves thundered down the road, urged by a rider who was only too happy to get far from the city before the Magus's light could even crest the horizon.

**Reviewers are beloved. So are their reviews. They do in fact affect my writing. Thanks for holding out until the update.**


	10. Guildmen Gone Wild

***gasp* Another chapter so soon? Well...yeah. I kind of wrote this while I was putting off finishing the last one. Go figure. **

**Again, I don't own the Elder Scrolls, or pretty much anything in these stories. Just my OC. **

**Moving on.**

Sharah was met by the Leyawiin chapter head only moments after entering the guildhall. The massive Nord grinned and thrust out his hand toward her, "Sharah the Wolf. Welcome."

Sharah chuckled under her breath. Well, if he was going to be official about it, "Ragar-Left-Hearing. Thank you. It's good to be back." She took the offered hand, the man's appendage dwarfing her own. He was the only Nord she'd ever met who actually preferred sweating it off in the south rather than braving the snow or enjoying the golden coast.

He led her up to the two flights of stairs and into his office where she refused the drink he offered her. The ride had done her good. So had the distance from Chorrol. Now she was ready to go to work, just like all her assignments before.

Ragar sat down heavily behind his desk, "So, are we in trouble?"

Sharah arced her brow, "Why do you assume that?"

Ragar took a swig of ale, "Oreyn sent his Wolf. What am I supposed to think?"

Sharah sighed and shook her head, "No one's in trouble. You've been sending reports to Oreyn. But reports never say everything. He wanted a direct assessment of the situation, so here I am. And I'm actually glad to be out of Chorrol for a while." Her journey could prove that. Sharah hadn't stalled, exactly. But she hadn't kept a swift pace either.

"So what do you want to know?"

She sat back in the chair, "Let's just assume I know nothing and go from there."

He chuckled sadly, "Then you're in for a long sitdown."

Sharah crossed her legs, the visage of patience, "I have nowhere else to be."

Ragar grunted, then said, "Well, maybe I'll just hit the basics. Contracts are getting scarce down here. And I mean really scarce. Especially in the last few months, ever since Blackwood started up their campaign."

"Blackwood?" Sharah asked carefully.

The Nord raised his eyebrow, "You even read my reports?"

Sharah nodded, "Yeah. But I want to hear it straight from you." In fact she'd stayed up just about all night before leaving Chorrol, reading every report from Leyawiin. But she always preferred hearing things at the source.

Ragar growled, "Bunch of mercenaries sent down to reclaim parts of Blackmarsh. They botched it and came back up to settle in Leyawiin. Mostly beastfolk: Argonians from Blackmarsh, Khajiit from Elswyer. But they've recruited here in Cyrodiil too. I didn't think too much of them at first. Friendly competition and what not. And it was. For a while. Then a couple months ago they started undercutting us on contracts. I mean aggressively. Fighters Guild may have the reputation, but when it comes down to it people like stuff cheap. And that's not even the worst part. They've got no sense of honor. Absolutely no standards when it comes to contracts. Any job and they'll do it. Even if it's bullying folks with debts or protecting smugglers… Least that's what I've heard. We've already lost members to them." Apparently, Blackwood was quite an issue as Ragar was getting heated just talking about it.

Sharah listened without allowing a thing to show on her face, "How are the members taking it?"

The Nord settled down a little, "They're…adjusting. Bodras and Sherina are still making it as trainers, but they've taken a cut in their payout to support the chapter. They ain't happy about it, but they understand. S'Kasha's doing more hunting to support herself. Cingor's joined this other group. He doesn't talk about it, but I know it's not Blackwood so I don't much care. The ones I'm really worried about are Vantus Prelius, Dubok gro-Shagk and Rellian."

Sharah thought back and replied, "I remember them. We did that ogre job together last time I was here." The guild had a couple of three man teams scattered through the province for those jobs that required a little more muscle and orchestration. They'd work together, train together, and were a hell of a lot more effective than throwing three random members into a job. Vantus and his men were one such group, based down here in Leyawiin.

Ragar replied, "Well, that was the last big contract they had. Fact is, with the Count's knightly order, the guard and now Blackwood, there's just nothing left for 'em as far as work. I'm thinking about setting up a transfer for 'em to one of the other halls. Tryin' to put it off though, since Vantus has got a family down here and moving that far could be hard on the youngling. But if contracts don't pick up…"

Sharah sat forward in her seat, "Is there anything that can be done for them?"

He said, "Work would be nice. But you'd have to talk to Vantus about it. Even if they need whatever they can get, he's got this…pride thing. Too much for his own good if you ask me."

She nodded, "Anything else I should know?"

Ragar shook his head, "Just make sure Oreyn knows things are getting worse. The situation's stable, but…" He growled angrily, "Blackwood's got us on the ropes. And I'm doing all I can think of down here to keep us afloat. If the guild just had some proper..." The Nord came up short and glanced at her as though realizing to whom he was still talking. He cleared his throat and continued, "Let's just, uh, see about those three for now. We can hold out after that until Oreyn…and Vilena, come up with something."

Ragar stood up and went to open the door. Sharah followed him to the third floor rail where he hollered down, "S'Kasha! Where's Vantus and his men?"

The Khajiit woman walked into view on the bottom floor. But when she saw Sharah leaning over beside Ragar, she hesitated. In fact, she had the same kind of look that Ragar had had in his office when he stopped midsentence. Sharah didn't really know what it meant. Ragar didn't wait long, "Well? Where are they?"

S'Kasha latched her eyes onto Ragar and answered quickly, "This one believes they will be found at the Five Claws Lodge." The local tavern.

Ragar's brow furrowed although he kept himself quiet. The Nord turned to Sharah and said, "I'm sure they'll be back this evening."

It was probably true, but the initial look on his face and his tone of voice told her he wasn't reassured by knowing their location. "Thanks, but if this contract business is getting so difficult then I should speak with them as soon as possible."

She trotted down the stairs while Ragar sounded like he was choking on how to dissuade her, or even if he should try. Sharah didn't give him the opportunity but went straight down the stairs and out the door. She really hoped Ragar's concern was unwarranted. But if all he said was true, chances were they weren't at the lodge to celebrate.

Enroute to the Lodge, Sharah spied a large female Orc in fine steel armor bearing a shield with the symbol of a rearing white horse upon it. "Hail, Mazoga!" Sharah called.

The Orc looked over and called back, "Hail, Sir Sharah."

Sharah walked towards her, "My apologies. Sir Mazoga." The Orc actually swelled at the proper greeting. They clasped hands, Sharah flinching slightly at the Orc's hard grip, "It's great to see you again. How is the knighthood treating you?"

"Very well. Are you finally here to take your place?"

Sharah shook her head and touched the guild patch strapped around her bicep, "No. I am still very much Fighters Guild. I'm actually on my way to some guild matters now. I can come by the lodge later so we can catch up."

"I'll come with you now. I want to see what keeps you from a knighthood." Sir Mazoga didn't take 'no' for an answer. She had this tendency to just tell people what was going to happen, not being someone to make requests. So Sharah accepted, as she didn't have a choice in the matter, and the two of them made their way to the Five Claws Lodge with Mazoga talking away about the campaign against the Black Bow Bandits that the Count had set the Order of the White Stallion to managing. Sharah hoped briefly that they could use some more manpower. But it sounded like Mazoga and the other knights had things well in hand. Sharah would have to figure out something else for her guildmates.

When the two of them entered the Five Claws, it was all too easy to pick out the three Fighters Guild members. Sharah groaned inwardly. This was exactly what she had been afraid of. The three of them were stone drunk and far too vocal. An Orc, a Redguard, and an Imperial were seated at a table, yelling and arguing over a dozen empty bottles and tankards. The Argonian proprietor had placed the counter between herself and them while ignoring their demands for more drinks. The trio, in the meantime, were in a drunken rage, hurling insults at the few customers, the proprietor and each other. And all of them rude. Thank the Nine they seemed too inebriated to stand and hurl fists as well.

Sharah and Mazoga's entrance drew the Argonian's attention, and the moment she saw Sharah's patch she came as close to the woman as the counter would allow and hissed, "No! No more Fighters Guild. You get them out or go away!"

Sharah held up her hands in a plea for calm, "I'm not here to make trouble. How long have they been here?"

"Too long!" the Argonian wailed, "Too long and too often. Get them out. They scare customers, break furniture. Bad, bad men!"

Sharah replied, "I'll see to them. Just give me a moment." Before even approaching though she turned to Mazoga and said, "Let me handle this please. They're in a bad way and I don't want this getting out of hand." The Orc grunted but stayed at Sharah's back when the woman made to approach.

Vantus Prelius, the Imperial and senior of the trio, looked up at her, "About time! Where are those drinks? We've asked a dozen times."

Sharah said politely, "Vantus, I think you've all had more than enough."

He frowned, blinked a few times, and then his expression got darker, "Oh, you." It sounded a lot like Maglir's drunken drawl, but Vantus was more angry than bitter. "Come to join us? If you are, you're buying."

Sharah kept her tone gentle but firm, "No. What do you three think you're doing?"

Vantus said, "We are doing what we're doing. One of the few things left for Fighters Guild in this town."

Dubok gro-Shagk, "And if you and your friend want to join us, then we can do somethin' else too. 'cept Vantus, 'cause he's married."

Sharah felt Mazoga tense up behind her. Sharah said, "It's time you three came back to the guildhall. You've done enough here and it's time to go."

Rellian, the Redguard, slammed his tankard down on the table and declared, "We're not going anywhere."

Vantus smirked, "Besides, you can't give me orders," he glanced at her guildpatch, "Protector."

Sharah's eyes narrowed. He was pulling rank. She shared the same rank with his men, while Vantus enjoyed the position of Warder, two ranks above them. She looked down at the fool as he raised his tankard shakily to his lips, "I'm giving the orders today, Vantus." Then her hand darted out and snatched the tankard from his hand. He was gripping just tight enough that while she managed to dislodge it from his grasp it fell from hers, spilling the contents all down his front.

Vantus and his men had come drinking in frustration. The alcohol only worsened their mood and with the three of them bickering all this time they were just rearing for a fight. The ale landing in Vantus's lap was just the last straw and he lunged out of his seat for her. Sharah had expected something along those lines. She laid a hand on his armor and used his momentum and drunken state to send him sailing past her where he crashed to the ground. Then she turned to deal with Dubok and Rellian who had come to their feet in defense of their leader.

Before she could move though, Mazoga tackled both of them with a battle cry usually reserved for bandit raids. Perhaps Sharah should have told the Orc what she was planning to do. But it was hardly possible to stop her now. At this point all Sharah could do was yell into the whirl of limbs, "Mazoga, don't break them. I need them functional tomorrow."

Vantus had rolled over and was attempting to get off the ground and come at her again. But he was battling gravity and his own weight too much to even get his feet. Although the fire in his eyes meant he was going to get at her any way he could. Sharah decided to cut off that intent at the source. She got behind him to lock an arm around his neck in a choke hold. He swung at her wildly while Sharah avoided his blows and held on. Vantus grunted and struggled for a while but ultimately went limp.

Sharah dropped him to the ground, unconscious, and moved to assist her knightly friend who was locked in a wrestling match with the other two. Mazoga was outmuscled but held her own given the both of them were drunk as could be. Sharah growled again. Did they think this was helping?

She strode up to the bunch and waited for an opening, at which point her hand darted in and seized Dubok's pointed ear. He shrieked and let go of Mazoga's leg. The knight rolled out of reach with Rellian still clinging to her back. Another swift movement and Sharah had another ear in hand. Rellian yelped and let go. She dragged both of them up, giving their sensitive flesh a good twist any time they reached for her or tried to dislodge.

"Both of you calm down! I'm not letting go until you stop fighting." Divines, she sounded like her mother. Another hard pinch, dual shrieks and the fight drained out of them. "You alright, Mazoga?"

The knight got to her feet, grinning through a newly swollen lip, "Maybe I should join the guild."

Sharah shook her head, laughing, then looked back at the two in her fingers, "If you two agree to behave, I'll let you go. But we're going straight back to the guildhall, got it?" When they didn't answer she twisted their ears again, "Got it?!"

They shrieked and slurred an agreement. Sharah released their ears and shoved the both of them toward the door. "Mazoga, would you get Vantus? I can't handle the weight and these two are likely to fall over if they try."

The Orc woman nodded and hefted the unconscious Imperial, steel armor and all, up over her shoulder like he was a grain sack. In the meantime, Sharah took a grip on Dubok and Rellian's arms and guided them out of the Lodge to the relief of the Argonian behind the counter.

Sharah pushed the lot of them through the least occupied streets of the city. It was bad enough there were Fighters Guild members making a mess of things in the local tavern. But people seeing them get their asses dragged back to the hall would only intensify the shame. Shame which would help no one.

When they came into the plaza that held the Fighters Guildhall attempt to remain unseen proved impossible, at least to some degree. From the building across the plaza, an armored group were exiting the door and caught sight of them. They were mostly beastfolk, Argonians and Khajiit, along with an Imperial man who looked more like a bandit than anyone had the right to. They spotted the guild bunch and most of them smirked. One yelled, "Fighters Guild can't even hold their liquor? You lot really are useless."

Dubok and Rellian strained to go at them, "Come over here and say that!"

A Khajiit bared his teeth, "Go roll in the mud, pigman. It'll improve your smell."

Sharah yanked back on the Orc's collar to keep him from trying for the bunch. The armored goons continued their barrage of insults, "And looks like the knights are finally doing something useful. Fighters Guild needed a nursemaid!"

Now it was Mazoga's turn to bristle.

"Mazoga!" Sharah snapped, "Friends first."

Miraculously, this kept Mazoga from dropping Vantus and waging her one man war on the gang. The weakness Sharah had for family, Mazoa had for friends. Sharah used all her strength to wrench her captives around and shove them up the steps to the hall's double doors and held them open for Mazoga to follow while the group across the street continued jeering until the doors were closed.

Rellian and Dubok swayed in the foyer, "We can't let them disrespect us like that. They gotta answer for their insults."

Sharah looked to Mazoga who still had Vantus slung over her shoulder, "Mazoga would you please carry him down to the basement. Just inside the door over there, on the left. You two, follow her."

Rellian wailed, "We didn't do anything wrong. It's those Blackwoods. They're the problem."

"March!" Sharah snapped and pointed after Mazoga.

The Orc and Redguard's shoulders slumped and they trudged on, with Sharah right behind them. The basement was almost as large as the main three story room of the guildhall. The lot of them went down the steps where Sharah directed Mazoga to deposit Vantus on some of the practice mats. "Thanks Mazoga. If you'd head back to the foyer, I'll be up in a bit." The Orc tossed a warning glance at the two conscious guild men and did as asked. When the door upstairs closed, Sharah turned to them, "The three of you are going to stay down here and out of trouble until you've sobered up. I can't believe the three of you. You should know better."

"We're not the trouble. Blackwood's the trouble," Dubok insisted.

"I don't want to hear it. Whatever they've done, what you three did today sure as hell didn't do any good. Did you really think that drinking yourselves under the table, in public, disgracing yourselves and the guild was going to help at all? Who's gonna want to hire a bunch of idiots with no respect for the city they live in?"

Rellian sat down hard, "No one's hiring us anyway. So how's this any different?"

"And again, I ask, how did this help? It made you feel better, and now you've got a reputation for being guild drunks."

Dubok staggered toward her, "You've got no idea what's been going on, Wolf. You're pretty cozy up in headquarters, but we haven't had a single job in a month. Vantus's wife had to start taking in wash just to buy food."

She glared right back, "And his solution was to go drink away what remained of his funds. And yours? Well, congratulations. Now the guild will have to pay reparations for your little blow out in the Five Claws. That's more coin out of the guild pocket. Not to mention what damage your behavior has done your reputation and the guild's. I can understand blowing off a little steam, but you all were out of line." She pointed down on the mats, "You'll stay put until I say so. If you're going to act like children, you'll be treated like children. And I'll have no problem keeping your asses here until you man up."

Sharah strode upstairs and left them to think, hopefully about the trouble they're behavior had caused. Not that they didn't have good points. Over a month without work would be stressful. Not sure if you would have enough money to last the week. Having to rely on others so heavily. For these three, that was especially difficult. But turning into a bunch of drunkards the way they had was no excuse, and she needed to be sure they knew it.

The Orc knight was waiting when Sharah got up. "Thanks for your help, my friend. I owe you."

"You owe me nothing. That's what friends do, right?"

They clasped hands again, "I'll come by the White Stallion Lodge before I leave town. We'll catch up properly. But I need to deal with this first. You understand."

Mazoga nodded. "Friends first," she said, echoing Sharah's words.

Sharah saw the Knight out. And when she turned around, several heads vanished into the dining room and back over the second level railing. Ragar's did not and he walked over from where he'd been waiting by the stairs, "Who was that?"

"Sir Mazoga. Friend of mine."

"And our men?"

"Downstairs." She looked at him carefully, "How often do they go to the Five Claws?"

Ragar was Warder rank, head of the Leyawiin Fighters Guild chapter, massive even by Nord standards. But the way this petite young Protector looked at him now, he suddenly felt very small. "Maybe every other day for the last two weeks." He couldn't bring himself to try and excuse their behavior, or explain why he hadn't put his foot down about it.

"Hm." That sound spoke volumes in regards to how Sharah was seeing this situation and Ragar's method of handling it. Or lack thereof. In fact, if she weren't so focused on the situation, Sharah might have realized it was almost the same sound Oreyn had made when he'd caught her in the guildtower.

She looked off into space and fiddled with the hilt of her shortsword while she thought. Then Sharah turned toward the door, "Let Vantus's wife know he'll be spending the night in the guildhall. I'd rather she not worry. And keep those three downstairs until I say so."

"Where are you going?" Ragar ventured to ask.

She glanced back at him, "To call in a couple favors. Don't wait up."

XXX

The next morning, the Leyawiin trio was still downstairs having slept the night on the practice mats. They weren't awake to see the contents of a bucket heave itself into the air and slam down on Rellian and Dubok who were instantly awake, soaked and sputtering. The contents of a second bucket was dumped over the head of Vantus Prelius after which the bucket itself was dropped on his stomach. The Imperial grunted and rolled over to dry heave at the floor.

Sharah stood there, waiting for them to finished before saying, "I want all of you washed, suited up and in the entrance hall in one hour. We're meeting a client and you're going to be presentable." Then she headed up the stairs, leaving the three looking uncertainly at each other. They eventually gained their feet and got prepared as they'd been instructed, grumbling all the way.

Upstairs, curious heads poked over the rails and discreetly out of doorways as Sharah circled the three, meticulously analyzing their uniforms. She tossed Vantus a cloth to polish off a smudge on his cuirass, told Rellian to fix his headband. Sharah wasn't sure if she looked more like a general overseeing her troops before a battle, or a mother preparing her children for an outing. When she shoved a comb into Dubok's hands, he growled about proper Orcs not having to comb their hair. Sharah fearlessly hooked a finger over one of his tusks and yanked him down the full foot to look her in the eye, "You say something?" His eyes widened and he shook his head. The instant she let him go, Dubok took the comb to his hair, yanking out knots that had probably been there for years.

When Sharah was satisfied with their appearance she led them out of the hall, "Now, we're going to meet a noblewoman. You three are going to behave yourselves. Speak when she speaks to you, otherwise keep your mouths shut. Her husband makes racial jokes. Again, keep your mouths shut. She is the client, not him. You screw this up and I'll throw you in the Topal sea, got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," they said.

They came to the door of a fine home and Sharah looked them over one last time before knocking on the door. It was answered by a middle-aged Nord woman in a simple cotton dress, "Oh, Sharah the Wolf. Please come in." Sharah did so, followed by her three guildmates. The Nord woman said, "When you said first thing, you really meant it."

Sharah nodded, "Yes, ma'am. I took you at your word. Did we interrupt anything?"

"No, just some shipping calculations," she looked at the three men, "Are these them?"

Sharah stepped aside and replied, "Yes. Margret, I'd like to introduce Vantus Prelius and his men: Rellian and Dubok gro-Shak. As tough a bunch as you'll find down here."

Margret looked at Vantus and asked, "Did you really clear Mehra's island of ogres last year?"

Vantus answered, "Yes, ma'am. Piece of cake."

The Nord nodded, "I know her. We spend summers out at her manor when my work allows it. So you can handle ogres?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What about minotaurs?"

"Yes, ma'am. We can handle anything," Vantus affirmed.

Margret smiled, "Good. Very good. Alchemy is a hobby of mine. There are some particular potions I'm working on that require minotaur horns and ogre teeth. I can't gather them myself, but if you would do it for me, I'll pay you top dollar."

Vantus held himself up, "You can count on us."

"Good. Now, I prefer whole and fresh…" The specifics of the assignment went on. Some small talk as well. When Margret's husband came downstairs and cracked a joke about Khajiit being tougher than Argonians, Dubok's lip merely quivered. Otherwise they held themselves well and didn't let the man upset their decorum. Soon enough, they were out on the street again.

"Margret will keep you three working for the foreseeable future as long as you don't bring her sub-par materials. And if she asks for something other than ogre teeth and minotaur horns, you three can lower yourself to flower picking and plant gathering. Keep her happy and she'll keep you paid. Margret doesn't trust the Blackwood Company so you've got no excuse." Sharah rounded on them, "And if you three pull another drinking binge like last night and I get wind, I'll come straight down here and put your heads through a wall. Understood?" They nodded emphatically. "Well? Go! You've got work to do, so go do it."

Sharah watched them bolt down the street in the direction of the city gates. Well, she didn't much like the weight of authority, and she didn't really like the weird looks from her guildmates when she exercised it. But Sharah decided that she did sort of like ordering people around. Not in excess, but it was a little funny to see these big strong guild men jumping at her word.

She strolled back toward the hall. She'd let Ragar know those three would be alright for a while and get some more information about Blackwood. Ask S'Kasha to keep an eye out for minotaurs and ogres when she hunted and to keep the trio informed. After that she'd come up with a special thank you to Rosentia Gallena for referring her to Margret in the first place, and finally head to the White Stallion Lodge to spend some time around Mazoga and the knightly order, hopefully avoiding getting dragged into assignment again. Although, as long as it wasn't the Countess asking, chances were Sharah wouldn't really be able to say 'no' to a raid on the Black Bows. Especially, if Mazoga told her that she was coming. Then, on the way back up north, Sharah could stop at Water's Edge to see how Biene and her father were getting along.

Overall, she'd done good work. Sharah had had to be a little pushy, but this time the situation called for a firm hand. But, even knowing the group was taken care of, this stuff about the Blackwood Company worried her. If they were such a big problem all these months, Oreyn should have sent her with more instructions than just reconnaissance. She'd done enough to alleviate losing three members, but that wasn't a final solution.

At the door to the hall, Sharah looked over at the building across the plaza. Over the door was the symbol of an axe and a sword crossed before a tree. The same symbol on the armor of those hecklers from yesterday. Something about them shifted her gut. Blackwood wasn't going to be content down here in Leyawiin. Sooner or later they'd move northward, spread their influence where there was more gold, more cities, more clients, and more Fighters Guildhalls. They were gonna be a problem. She could feel it.

**Review and I will send you a virtual gift basket of muffins...as soon as I figure out how to use the virtual oven. Is spacebar the whisk or the muffin tin?**


	11. The Guildmaster's Son

**Yay! Another chapter. Moving forward and what not.**

**Aletheya: here's your muffin update! So glad you reviewed.**

**M: yeah I kind of noticed that too. Look up the Elder Scrolls timeline at some point. Looks legit and then in one year: BOOM, everything bad happens. I blame the Septim administration.**

Sharah was within miles of Chorrol when she remembered exactly what she was coming back to. It was probably beyond hope that everyone had just forgotten about Heart's Day. The trees parted to reveal the Odiil farm. Ralus was outside wielding a hoe against the ground. At the sound of a horse on the road he looked up. And seeing her, he took a few steps toward the fence and waved a greeting.

Before Heart's Day she would have waved back and ridden up to the fence to trade gossip before continuing on to Chorrol. This time she just nodded to him and set her eyes forward. She felt horrible for acting so distant. But what was she supposed to do? How was she supposed to act the same when she knew how he felt? She wished her mother were still around to give her advice. This was the sort of thing daughters looked to their mothers for. That wish churned her stomach and Sharah had to mentally bite down on Umbra when the soul tried to take advantage. At least that gave her something else to focus on as she rode.

After stabling her horse, Sharah headed straight for the Fighters guildhall, the issue of the Blackwood Company now at the front of her mind. The Leyawiin chapter would be alright for a while, but Oreyn needed to know everything she'd seen as soon as possible if he and the Guildmaster were going to come up with a proper solution.

Barely two steps inside and she came face to face with Guilbert Jemane as he was coming upstairs from the basement. They both froze and Guilbert blushed. Sharah didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry that he was still hanging around the guildhall. Guilbert mumbled some excuse and hurried around her and out the door.

"Sharah. What happened in Leyawiin?"

Sharah swung around from looking after Guilbert to see Oreyn who was coming out the basement as well with a thin layer of sweat around his collar. It took a few seconds to recall exactly what she was doing here. "Right. I think we should talk in your office." Better that the truth of the Blackwood situation weren't spread around the hall.

As soon as they were in the guild tower, Sharah reported everything she'd learned regarding the Leyawiin chapter and Blackwood Company. Oreyn's scowl only got deeper as she recounted the happenings. "Those sons of…" He stood up and paced the room. Admittedly, it was only three steps for the lanky Dunmer, which made him seem all the more agitated. "I didn't realize they'd taken such a foothold. How did they seem to you? When you saw them?"

Sharah leaned on her knees, "Cocky. Very cocky. And why not? They're practically grinding the Leyawiin hall into the ground. No one likes them much. Even the Count's knights hate 'em. You should have seen Mazoga's face when they were in view. But Blackwood is charted through the city, people use them, and they've gold to pay for what trouble they do cause. So even with their attitude, there's nothing the guard or the knights can do about it."

Oreyn continued his pacing: 1, 2, 3, turn, 1, 2, 3, turn… Apparently Ragar's reports hadn't really given a full impression of the situation down south. Sharah interrupted his musings, "Oreyn, the chapter's ok for now. But there has to be some kind of long-term solution for this. Hasn't the guild had rivals before?"

"Of course. We'll come up with something." He grumbled quietly to himself, "This couldn't have happened at a worse time…" Oreyn looked back at her, "You're job's done anyway. Payment's in the office." That was the end of their briefing.

As they took the walkway back to the guildhall, Sharah said, "I'm sorry how I handled their…drinking binge. I could have done better on that. Not so public for one thing…"

Oreyn grunted, "You know how many tavern runs I've made in my career? You did fine. For your first, anyway. Good thing for that orc though. Mazoga, was it?" Sharah nodded. "Hm. Keep her close. It's good to have allies in circles beyond the guild."

While he was riffling through drawers for coin, Sharah chanced a more tender subject, "I saw Guilbert downstairs…Oreyn, I swear, I did talk to him. And I did tell him I wasn't interested. I'm really not sure why he's still around—"

"You told him you weren't ready," Oreyn clarified. Sharah groaned inwardly. Did he have to be so well informed? But the mer didn't give her the chance to try and explain, "He wasn't here for you. At least that he'll admit. He was here for training."

Sharah started, "Training?"

The Dunmer nodded, "He's paying good money to learn to use his family war hammer. And as long as he's not just here to annoy people, I see no problem. Now take your payment and go get some rest. You barely gave yourself a break before this assignment and I want you to get some proper R&R. I'll have something else for you soon enough I think."

Sharah took the bag of coins and left Oreyn thinking intently at the desk. Where was the Guildmaster anyway? The Fighters Guild Protector realized how rarely she saw Vilena Donton in her office anymore. Or even in the Guildhall. Had something happened to her?

She headed downstairs to grab her pack from where she'd dropped it on the first floor. Doing so brought her in view of the dining hall. "Hey, Sharah. Did you see Guilbert?"

Sharah's head came up and she saw Cargas and Lashana sitting at the dining table grinning at her. She felt her face flush, but not from embarrassment. She remembered seeing her friends pass gold between them right in front of her, instead of telling her what was happening. Her jaw set, Sharah strode into the dining hall and, before anyone could do anything, she hooked a foot over the bench they were both seated on and yanked it backward. Both of her friends yelled as they fell, slamming so hard into the ground that it knocked the wind from their lungs.

Sharah looked down at them, waiting for the coughing to stop before saying, "No more betting on my love life. Got it?"

Lashana rubbed the back of her head, "Oh, come on, Sharah. It was just for fun." Sharah's glare shut the woman up. Lashana even dropped her eyes to look down at her twiddling fingers.

"No. More. Betting."

The women averted their eyes and mumbled agreement. Sharah left the room and went upstairs to her bed. They'd betted on her relationships instead of talking to her about it. She growled under her breath while grabbing the things from her pack and tossing them in the trunk. Her friends had let her walk around like an idiot for…how long? She didn't even know. Of course she was angry at them. Maybe Cargas was a tease, but Lashana and Ashtus had a solid relationship. She at least should have said something. Anything. Even if it was just giving Sharah her opinion on who she would pick, or asking how she felt. But no, they'd decided to keep it from her for the sake of their game. Sharah tossed herself on the bed and tried to get some rest. Better to sleep than deal with them right now.

XXX

Sharah admitted she did spend the next week avoiding people. Guilbert, her guildmates, Rallus, even Emfrid when she could. She just wanted to forget the whole thing because she had no idea how to deal with it. Sharah was mad at all of them for leaving her clueless. Mad at herself, too. And she clung to the anger. She found it easier to be frustrated than confused. Frustrated she could focus into training. Confusion…she didn't know what to do with that. It just got in the way.

She did notice that Oreyn spent the majority of his time in the guildmaster's office. He trained occasionally, but not as often as before. Sharah only hoped it was because the man was thinking up a solution to the Blackwood's problem. But, again, she asked herself where the Guildmaster was during all this.

"Sharah!"

She dropped the book on her bed and was on her feet as quick as possible. "Yes, sir."

Oreyn stood at the third floor rail and spoke down to her, "There's a boot in the basement who's expecting training in the blade. I haven't the time. Get down there and cover the session for me."

"Sure thing," Sharah replied and turned to snatch up Umbra and Chillrend.

"By the way, it's Viranus Donton. Don't think him being the guildmaster's son means you can slack off."

Sharah processed the development quickly, "I won't," and then hurried downstairs.

So she was to train the guildmaster's son? Sharah wasn't sure what to think of this. Oreyn might not want her to slack off, but certainly he wouldn't want her to beat the life out of him. If she even could. The guildmaster's son could be as tough a warrior as could be. Maybe she'd be the one asking him to slack off. She'd seen the man occasionally, but not enough to judge his ability. Well, she'd just see when the session started.

Viranus Donton was warming up on the practice mats when she arrived. His form looked fine; he favored steel armor and a silver longsword, but worked with them alright. Sharah figured she'd check his speed and strength, so she chose Chillrend for the session. Leaving Umbra set against the wall where she could see it, Sharah went to take up the warm up exercises beside him.

Viranus glanced over at her, "Are you here for the training session?"

Sharah nodded, swinging the glass blade in time with his movements, "Yeah. Oreyn sent me down here. Is that alright?"

The man nodded, "Of course. I'm just glad to be doing something."

They continued the motions, side by side, until they'd both properly warmed up for the match. Then Sharah took one swift movement and their blades met unexpectedly. At least unexpectedly for Viranus. The man started and then looked pleased at her sudden instigation of a match. "I hope you don't mind," Sharah said, "But my blade has a frost enchantment on it. Your hands might get a little cold until it runs out."

Viranus spared a glance at her blade before returning to her face, "I think I can handle it."

The two of them circled, both taking in the other's stance and style of movement, as well as their opponents in general. Viranus Donton was a little older than Sharah by a few years. Certainly not older than twenty-five. Brown hair, handsome face. Although he was rather devoid of scars. Then again, she made a point of avoiding scars, and certainly avoiding any on her visible skin. From what Sharah remembered of the Guildmaster, she did see the family resemblance. Although, this man had an innocent quality about him. That didn't mean he didn't carry the steel armor like he'd trained in it, or wield the sword with any less experience. But, she did notice that his motions were developed from training and practice, while her's were derived from actual combat against bandits and monsters. So he was homeschooled in the work rather than hardened in the field.

Sharah just about smacked herself when the thought was coupled with a derogatory inclination. Of course the son of the Guildmaster wouldn't be out battling monsters on the roadside. The Dontons had led the Fighters Guild for generations. What good would there be in risking the heir to the Guild on a bandit raid? Still, this was an opportunity to teach him something beyond swinging endless repetition against a wooden dummy.

A false start toward the right and she struck to the left. Viranus blocked quick enough but didn't see the foot fly out of nowhere and trip him up. That sent the man stumbling off to the side, not quite losing his feet. But if she'd been a proper enemy, it would have meant a blade in the back. He rounded on her, "What was that?"

She shrugged, "Did you think this was going to be a duel? It's combat practice. And combat is messy and dirty. You do whatever you can to best your opponent. So, in truth, anything goes."

Viranus attempted to reprimand her, "But this is not dirty combat."

"Which is why you aren't dead. But that's about it. So, are you going to keep whining or are you going to start taking this seriously?"

He took a tighter grip on his sword and came at her deliberately. Sharah saw the makings of a left strike and thrust, and made to counter with a trick she'd gathered from a bandit on the Red Road right before she struck him down: she hit the blade head on, then let the thrust carry the blades along each other's lengths. Just before the hilts connected, Sharah twirled and stepped under Viranus's arm and let the energy of the thrust carry him right past her. The man was fast enough to turn and block her counter strike, which was surprising given the weight of his armor and weapon. "Another dirty combat trick?" he asked.

Sharah grinned, "If it makes you feel any better, I killed the one who used it on me anyway." And their blades met again.

Back and forth they went. Viranus wasn't a master, but whatever training, private or otherwise, showed in his technique. While Sharah's technique was…well, she never dueled. She used what won her the battle and killed her opponent. In this particular match, she used her speed, wearing light leather and wielding a short blade to match Viranus's heavy armor and training. Still, he was keeping up with her, if by the nature of his size and strength. Later Sharah might entertain the idea of her with another foot of height and large muscles, traipsing around in Daedric armor with a Dwarven claymore. But later. Right now she had to impart some real battle experience on this homeschooled kid.

He was picking up some things. Viranus let his technique slip a little for the sake of gaining an edge by shoving or using his weight. Sharah actually grinned when he grabbed for her arm at one point. Certainly it would get you in trouble in a duel. But in real combat? Her grin widened. He was learning. Maybe Sharah'd do some teaching after she'd exhausted her Ra Gada Urge.

They fought until both of them were out of breath. It came down to the dull ache in their muscles really. Sharah's rapid movements and the weight of his armor wore them out at about the same time. They stood gasping at each other, neither really wanting to stop but neither really able to continue at full speed. Anything done after this point would have been out of sheer pride.

Viranus leaned on his knees, "I don't know what Oreyn's worried about. You seem contract ready to me."

Sharah propped Chillrend's point onto the stone at the edge of the mat and put her weight on it, "Excuse me? I _am_ contract ready. I've _been_ contract ready. Oreyn wouldn't have me sent me after fugitives if I weren't. You, on the other hand, could use more field experience. Or at least more of these lessons. Goblins don't use the Aldmeri pass."

"Excuse me?" Viranus repeated her tone and words. "Who's training who here?"

Sharah gave him a look, "I would think that's obvious. Oreyn sent me down to cover your session. He said he didn't have the time."

Viranus blinked, paused, then said, "Oreyn told me he was sending a boot down for me to train."

They stared at each other, then grinned, then burst out laughing. Sharah breathed through her cackles and whipped away a tear, "I can't believe he did this. If it were anyone else I would say this was a practical joke. But with Oreyn…?"

Viranus walked over to the step and sat down heavily, still chuckling, "He's been training me since I was a boy. I didn't think him capable of guile. But he's not one for subtle. Maybe it's his way of introducing us."

Sharah rubbed her arm, which was sore from taking so many strikes, "He could have picked a better way. Like in public with a handshake." Still… Sharah walked over and extended an arm, "Sharah the Wolf. Nice to meet you."

Viranus took the offered hand and shook it, "Viranus Donton. Glad to meet you too." She grabbed Umbra from where it leaned and sat down beside him. "Wait…the Wolf of Cyrodiil?"

"Yeah. That's me. Unless you know any other Sharahs." Viranus looked at her a little closer and Sharah glared at him under the scrutiny, "What!?"

He backed off, actually scooting away on the step and waving his hands in accession, "No, no. I just… I know I've seen you around the hall, and you work under Oreyn but…I didn't really connect you and the Wolf. I guess I just sort of expected the Wolf to be…"

"Bigger? Older? More frightening?" Sharah inquired. Viranus nodded dumbly. Sharah sighed, "Just between us…so do I." They sat in silence, catching their breath before she broke the quiet again, "So…Viranus Donton. You learned to fight here in the hall?"

He nodded, "Modryn Oreyn taught me and…and my brother. But I haven't had a lot of opportunities to try my skills in the field though." Viranus was momentarily preoccupied by some unpleasant thoughts, but pulled himself out to ask, "Where did you learn? You don't seem to pick any particular style."

Sharah shrugged, "Whatever gets me the victory. It sounds a little crude. But once you've been sniped by someone hiding with a bow, or had a few spells cast at you over a mace, you learn to adjust to the situation. Even if it seems dishonest in the full light of day. Whatever keeps you alive."

Viranus looked over at her, "It sounds like you've been through a lot."

She shrugged again, "Contracts mostly. Adventuring too. Oh, and some time in the Arena. You want to see 'anything goes', take in a couple matches there. I made the mistake of ticking off the Champion for the other team in my early days. I never got a break after that. So, yeah, I learned to win however I could."

Viranus's eyes were wide, "Your life sounds so exciting."

Sharah chuckled, "Exciting and dangerous. I've wondered more than once if there's someone watching out for me, considering all the close calls I've been through. Then again, I was born under the Thief. What else do you expect than reckless and lucky?"

Viranus looked away, "Still, you work out in the field. I guess I'm a little jealous. Most of my time is spent here, polishing or training the new boots."

"Like me?" Sharah grinned at him.

The man grinned back, sharing their joke, "Should we ask Oreyn about that? It's possible he just mixed us up with someone else."

Sharah shook her head, "No way. He knew exactly what he was doing. But Divines forbid that he proceed with introductions out in the open like normal people. The crazy Dunmer had to do it over a couple of blades." They laughed a little over their superior before falling again into quiet thought. And again, it was Sharah to break the silence with a question that had followed her for a while, "Viranus…can I ask you about your brother?"

Viranus's rigid expression was enough to warn her how delicate this subject was, "What about him?"

She kept her tone gentle, "Just, in general. I never met him. And whenever he comes up it's always…vague. I don't want to go delving where it's not wanted. But I sort of figured you'd be the one to ask. Unless you don't want to talk about it. Which is fine." People in the guild talked about Vitellus Donton with a mixture of pride and sorrow. But it was never much before the topic was put aside. She knew he was Vilena's first born and that he had died.

"No," Viranus assured her, "His memory deserves to be preserved. But mother dislikes talking about him. That's all." Sharah sat quietly for him to continue. Viranus took a deep breath before saying, "Vitellus was…a great man. Even when we were growing up he was…always focused on the right things. He never minded having his little brother along, or keeping the older kids from bullying me. I owe a lot to him. He was the man of our house very early on, and took the role seriously. Everyone loved him. Especially in the Guild. He trained for it very early on. I still remember him chopping at his bedposts when we were young. It kept me up at nights." Sharah laughed with him. "He joined the guild the very day he was old enough. Everyone knew he was going to lead one day. Even mother. Spared no expense to give him the best. Both of us. But..." Viranus's face turned sad, "…I was never on Vitellus's level. I was always his little brother, just along for the ride."

Sharah gave him a moment to dwell before asking, "What happened?"

Viranus replied, "A contract. I don't know the details. Mother never talks about it. Even Oreyn won't tell me. But, I know he died valiantly, as we all knew he would. I…I'm sure Mother is very proud."

Sharah reached out and gripped his shoulder, "If he was anything like you, I'm sure she is. And exceedingly." In truth, Sharah had no idea. But it was what Viranus needed to hear. "So, I guess now, guild leadership will fall to you, right?"

Viranus shrugged, "I guess so."

Sharah gave him a good natured glared and kicked at his greave covered shin, "Don't let anyone else hear you talk like that. They'll think you're not confident." She stood up quickly and pulled Chillrend from its sheath, "Come on, guild-boy. We've rested long enough. Come show me your Donton spirit."

Sharah's goading prompted the man to shake off his heavy family history in favor of the match. It didn't last as long as the first, given they'd already exhausted themselves once, but it was an opportunity to study the man that would one day lead them. Guild leadership passed through the Dontons' family line. And with Vitellus dead some two or three years, Viranus Donton was all they had. He was a little skittish. He's already told her that his life had been spent as little brother to the great Vitellus. Hopefully all he needed was an opportunity to step out and shine.

She still couldn't get over how typical his style was. So little concept of battle beyond the arranged sequences. Even with what he picked up from her, a Guildmaster-to-be needed to know more than battle sequences. Sharah was surprised that Vilena hadn't seen to this. Certainly she must want her son to be well rounded and experienced. Especially given her…age. Viranus was going to inherit the guild, hopefully in the next decade. He was definitely going to need more experience before that day.

After the two fighters had exhausted themselves fully, Sharah climbed the stair cases up to the guildmaster's office. Oreyn was still bent over the papers when she got there. "So," he asked, "How did it go?"

"Fine. Although there was some confusion as to who was there to train who." She couldn't help but call him out a little in regards to his sleight-of-instruction trick.

Oreyn didn't even bat an eye, "Then you should pay more attention. What did you think?"

Sharah fell back on her usual reporting style, "He's got training, but not a lot of experience. I think he needs more field work. An opportunity to use what he knows and learn to adjust to real world conflicts that don't fit inside sequences. Although, given his ultimate destination in the guild, he probably should still do it under…supervision."

Oreyn nodded as though he'd expected every word, "My thoughts exactly. Glad to know someone agrees. What about him?"

"What about him?" she asked.

"How did he seem with you? Problems? Conflicts?"

Sharah blanched, "Sir, I have had quite enough of men in that regard already." Oh, Gods. Had he been trying to set her up with the guildmaster's son?

Oreyn scowled at her, "Not what I meant." Relieved was an understatement for Sharah's response to that. "I meant: can you work with him? Under him?"

She replied, "Well, yes. Of course. I mean…I'm not one to just roll over. I'd still call him on his lackings. But…yeah, I'd trust him to lead the guild. Why?"

"For future reference. Now, get out. You're affecting my concentration." Sharah knew a dismissal from Oreyn when she heard it and went to wash up. She was beat and Chillrend would need some minor repairs after that bout.

**Please review. I love reading them every one. And sorry about the mix-up on the Ch 9 reposting. Hope that didn't catch too many of you off-guard.**


	12. Warrior, Babysitter, Secretary

**Another chapter. Yay. I didn't do as much reviewing of this chapter so let me know how it turned out. Mind you, the Sharah/Oreyn relationship is something akin to niece/crabby uncle.**

**Dear Guest: thank you for your review. Yes, here's the babysitting chapter. I hope it does it justice. If not, I might just have to rewrite that section, because Viranus kept running ahead of me in the game, too. Little idiot. Thank the Nine he was marked essential. I mean come on! And I'm saving Oblivion Crisis for the end. We'll go through the other quest lines first.**

**Ok, read away, and review.**

A day later, Sharah was taking an early dinner in the dining hall when Oreyn caught her eye from the second floor rail. He jerked his head to the guild tower passage before proceeding there himself. Not exactly the most subtle of clues. Apparently his cunning came in spurts.

Sharah finished her meal quickly and followed. Oreyn was waiting for her in the third floor room, "I've got a job for you. This one is slightly off the record." Sharah said not a word, but took her accustomed seat. Oreyn took this as an acceptance and went on, "We got a contract to search for someone up at Nonwyll cave. A man named Galtus Previa. He went up looking for gems and was never heard from again. His aunt paid us to go up and find him, or what happened to him."

"Sounds straight forward. Why is it off the record?" Sharah asked.

Oreyn replied, "I'm assigning the contract to Viranus Donton. Your job is to go with him and make sure he makes it back alive. And Vilena is not to know about it."

Sharah's eyes widened and then narrowed, "And I assume you have a good reason for that." Meaning she wanted to know the reason.

Oreyn picked up on that easily enough, "You know about Vitellus, right?"

She nodded, "A little."

"Ever since we lost him on contract, Vilena has been keeping Viranus from the field. Doesn't want him in the line of fire. He hasn't had a contract in several months. He's getting dull and it's affecting his confidence. I can't blame the woman for wanting to protect the boy. But, like you said, Viranus needs more experience if he's going to run this guild. So you are going to take him up to Nonwyll cave, make sure he succeeds, and get him back safe. And not a word to the Guildmaster. Think you can do it?"

Sharah nodded, "Of course. But…what am I supposed to tell Viranus?"

He glared at her as though she'd claimed the sky were green, "That it's a contract. Vilena's hardly ever in the guildhall nowadays." This statement came with a flash of severity. "Just keep it quiet until you get back. Don't let him get killed. And don't die yourself. You need more instructions than that?"

"No, sir." What other response was there? A covert mission…covert from the Guildmaster. Maybe Oreyn was sneakier than she gave him credit for.

Sharah threw together a day pack with plenty of healing potions, just in case something unpleasant happened up there. It was also why she grabbed the light iron shield she had tucked under her bed back when she first arrived. She knew how to use it, but usually preferred to be free of the extra weight. But with a companion, the added defense was worth the trade off.

Then she went looking for Viranus whilst keeping an eye out for Vilena, just in case the Guildmaster decided she'd make an impromptu visit today. Viranus was down in the basement, repairing a set of iron boots. "Hey, Viranus," Sharah hailed him.

The man looked up, "Greetings, Sharah. Something I can do for you?"

"Actually, it's the other way around. You've got a contract, and Oreyn's assigned me to assist you."

Viranus just about dropped his hammer, "A contract? Really? What is it?"

"A man named Galtus Previa went up to Nonwyll cave and disappeared. We need to go and find him. Think you're up for it?" she asked, letting her goading tone sneak into her voice.

Viranus came to his feet, "Of course. I just need to grab a few things. And I should tell mother where we're going—"

Sharah didn't miss a beat, "We don't have a lot of time here, Viranus. Galtus could still be alive. We need to move."

Viranus nodded, "Yes, yes, of course. I just…I'm sure there's no need."

Ten minutes later they were out the hall doors and headed toward the northern gate. Sharah was a dozen steps into the surrounding wilderness when she realized she was alone. Turning back, Viranus had stopped at the city gates, staring out as though into a foreign land. If she wasn't worried too much about his being sheltered, she certainly was now. "Hey, Viranus! Make a move!" He started and hurried to follow her up the road and into the mountain slopes with the last rays of sunlight catching in the trees around them.

The path they took was well trodden but not on official maps of the province. The road led up into the mountain, traveling along the ridge of the Jerall mountains until finally coming down to Bruma. It was said to be populated by monsters and wild animals, and there was a rumor about daedra worshipers too. But Sharah didn't see it getting too bad. Nonwyll was barely up the slope. The worse they'd come across would be wolves.

The two of them stuck close. Viranus and his heavy armor set their pace, which was just fine for Sharah. She didn't really feel a need to rush the completion of the contract. In the back of her head, she was pretty sure of what they were going to find. But it wasn't for her to tell.

"So…I asked around the guildhall about you," Viranus ventured.

Sharah groaned like a wounded animal, "Oh Gods, you didn't. Don't you have anything else to do?"

He shook his head with a smile, "Not really. No contracts, remember. Besides, if Oreyn wanted us introduced, then maybe I should know more about you."

She said, "Are you sure you weren't just bored? And should I be worried about what you were told?"

Viranus continued to smile, "Just that you are having problems with romance—"

Sharah shrieked, cutting him off with the sound and a rapid wave of her hand, "Yah! We, you and I, are not talking about this."

"—Two men—"

"Stop!"

"—vying for your affections—"

"Shut it!"

"—one of them training in the guildhall, just to be around you—"

Sharah rounded on him, barely able to keep the grin from splitting across her face, "That is not remotely true. I don't care if you are a Donton. I swear, I will club you and leave you behind a bush if you keep going."

Viranus clamped his mouth shut, but his eyes danced with mirth. She gave him one last warning finger in his face before they continued up the road. In truth, his teasing was welcomed. It made the topic seem less weighted. In fact, it was the first time she'd found amusement in it. Maybe because she was talking with someone who hadn't played a part in the deception.

A few minutes later Viranus said, "It's just that your friends say you don't talk to them anymore."

The amusement now gone, Sharah answered, "I'm angry at them. And I've every right to be."

"What for?"

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, "They kept something from me. I…didn't actually notice the apparent romance going on around me, and not one of my so called friends bothered to mention it. Even as an off comment."

"Maybe they were respecting your privacy," Viranus offered.

She glared at him, "They were betting on the outcome."

"Oh."

"Yeah. 'Oh'. Look, I'd really rather not talk about this, ok? It's kind of personal."

Viranus replied, "I've been told that talking about things makes them easier to handle."

Sharah grasped for some way to ward off his attempts, "Alright. I'll tell you all the little gory details regarding my troubled love life…if you tell me what's going on between you and Hodge."

Viranus actually stopped in his tracks, "Wa…What?"

Sharah looked back at him, not unnecessarily smug in her success, "You know. Eduard Hodge. That new boot."

"I…I don't know what you mean," Viranus stuttered.

She eyed him, "Really? Look, I may be blind to my own love interests, but not so much to others. So?"

Viranus trotted forward, trying not to meet her eyes, "Well, we knew each other when we were kids. Then his family moved to Skingrad. He recently moved back to Chorrol and joined the guild. There's nothing more to tell."

"Uh-huh," Sharah said, clearly unconvinced. They walked a bit longer before she said, "Look, Viranus. Clearly you like him." Why else would Viranus stutter when the topic came up? "And I think he likes you. But, you have to talk to him about it. Trust me, keeping it to yourself is…dangerous."

"Is that what happened to you?" Viranus asked.

Sharah snorted, "No, that's what happened to the two men who were interested in me. Now I'm pissed at them and my friends, and no one's happy with the turn out. My advice would be: say something."

He dropped his head, "It's not that easy."

"How so?"

He was avoiding the subject, "It's…complicated."

"I've been told that talking about things makes them easier to handle," Sharah retorted.

She watched Viranus try and arrange his thoughts. "I'm the last of the Donton line. I'm going to inherit the guild. And without Vitellus, it's my responsibility to marry and continue the family line. Dontons have led the Fighters Guild for five generations. And…I'm not sure if my mother would understand."

Sharah never had a head for blood lines. Perhaps because she came from a pair of insignificant bloodlines herself, but more likely because she'd grown up assuming an individual's actions were of more consequence. It was clear that Viranus had too much on his plate: the responsibility of the guild bearing down on him, warring between his duty and his personal satisfaction, his mother's overbearing protection, and his own grief and feelings of inadequacy in regards to his brother.

"Just don't write off your own happiness in the process," she said, "You've a responsibility to yourself too. And I don't think the world is going to fall apart if the Dontons happen to end with you. I'm just saying." Something up ahead caught her eye, "We're here."

The entrance to Nonwyll cave was angled so as to be hidden from the road. As the two of them took the path to approach, she kept an eye on the ground. It didn't look to have been disturbed in a while. Not a good sign for Galtus. A cave would probably mean close quarters, so she drew Chillrend and prepared herself, then looked expectantly at Viranus. He was tense, had his sword in a death grip, and was staring at the door with wide eyes. Sharah could have handled this contract alone. Avoiding or killing whatever monsters or people were in there to do them harm without a single one of them spotting her. But, this wasn't just about completing the contract. It was about giving Viranus something to feel proud of.

"Hey, Viranus." He looked up like a startled rabbit. "You're leading this contract. So?"

Now he really did look like a startled rabbit, "Oh…um…We'll need light in there. Do we have a torch?"

Ok, good start. But she never carried torches. "No. But I have something else." Sharah dug into her pocket for her collection of enchanted rings and plucked on off to hand it to him, "It's enchanted with Nighteye. A torch would probably give away our presence anyway."

He took it and slipped it on, blinking quickly as the night doubtless lit up in his vision, "Thanks. What about you?"

"I've got good night vision. I'll be fine. Anything else?"

Viranus thought quickly, "We don't know what's inside. So we should be cautious. And stick together."

"Good plan. And we should probably try and keep quiet," she glanced at his heavy steal armor, "At least as much as we're able."

Viranus nodded and looked apprehensively toward the door, "Well, let's…get to it then."

Sharah followed him in. The man looked a bit silly sneaking along in his steel armor, clanking all the way. Although to his ears it was probably quiet. The lack of disturbance outside meant that they likely wouldn't have much to deal with. Except for what was already living here. Some rats or mudcrabs. Her job was to stick close to Viranus and make sure he did alright. Easy enough.

They crept through the passage, the echo of Viranus's armor bouncing off the walls. The light from outside vanished quickly, and Sharah conjured a small flare in her palm to give just enough light for her to see her steps in the pitch black.

Sharah caught the smell before he did. She reached out and held him back by the arm, extinguished her flare and took a deep breath through the nose. "Trolls. There are troll here."

"What? How can you tell?"

"The smell. Look, we need to be careful. They tend to live in groups." She looked down the passage, "It might be easier to handle them in close quarters so they can't flank us." Viranus nodded, looking a bit fearful even in the darkness. Sharah reached out and gripped his shoulder, "Don't worry. I've got your back."

Viranus tried to smile, but she saw the uncertainty. They picked a narrow part of the passage about ten feet short of bend in the way. They exchanged a look and then both of them began striking their shields with the flat of their swords. The crashing of the metal echoed down into the depths. The sounds had barely died away when shrieks returned from the other direction. The fighters tensed as the cries grew louder.

The moment the trolls came around the corner, the warriors attacked with Viranus in the lead. Sharah watched him, kept up with his pace, but allowed him to lead the charge. But whenever he was forced back, Sharah was there with sword and shield to cover him until he recovered enough to strike again. At that point she fell back into secondary position until the next time he faltered. She had enough battle experience to fit herself to his style, taking as much damage as she could manage while allowing him to keep the front.

…At least that was the intention.

In truth, the instant the trolls were in view, Viranus let out shriek that rivaled a Land Dreugh cry and threw himself bodily into the advancing mass of trolls. They were as surprised as Sharah or the man would have been killed in an instant. But he had enough time before they recovered to gain his feet and begin wading through the beasts, slashing his blade at anything that moved.

Sharah was left dumbfounded, and no little amount from that shriek, but recovered and went after him. He plowed through the trolls like a man possessed, all his sequences flying right out the window as he just swung the blade around like a bloody recruit. Half his blows were flesh wounds and Sharah had to follow close, Chillrend ending those left alive behind his onslaught. But not that close. The narrow passage they'd intended to bottleneck the trolls now kept her from joining in front combat. She'd have spent half her time dodging his attacks as the monsters'.

There was a moment of true terror when she decapitated a troll and turned to see the passage empty. Sharah's heart stopped and only started again on hearing the sounds of battle further in. Sharah lit a flare in her hand and took off running, around the bend and down the passage to find Viranus locked in battle with two more trolls, this time in an open cavern. Oh, she was gonna kill him. Sharah flanked his enemies and finished the fight with a few well-placed hits when they weren't expecting it. That left the cavern blissfully silent.

Sharah turned on Viranus and smacked him upside the head as hard as she dared.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"What was that for?! What do you think? By the Nine, you scared me half to death back there. What were you thinking? Were you thinking?" Sharah demanded, red in the face.

His battle fever gone, Viranus cowed before her, "I'm sorry. I guess I got a little…carried away."

"A little!" she yelled, "What kind of strategy is throwing yourself onto the enemy? And you just left me behind. We're on this contract together for a reason, idiot. Don't you dare do that again!" Sharah jammed her blade into the neck of a troll who'd been twitching to get up, then conjured a bright flare and stalked further into the cavern. Based on the clanking of armor, she knew he followed after.

This man was going to give her a heart-attack. He really needed more contracts to keep him from getting wound up like that ever again. It was like letting a toddler out of his crib. Only with a sword. She was never having kids. Men in general were insufferable until they hit seventy.

The two of them continued into the cave, Sharah at the lead. That little tussle from earlier had drawn most of the monsters out, so the caves were clear. Only a few more remained. Viranus managed to keep his head during those encounters, but still let Sharah lead the way. That way led into a large cavern. Sharah and Viranus spread out to search it. She started to notice some odd things during the search: evidence of occupation. A broken table, an old campfire and several passages that had been blocked up with rock and broken crates. Perhaps Galtus had moved on and just not bothered to relay the information.

"Sharah!" She ran the distance to where Viranus stood in the passage before a smaller chamber. There was a body inside. Viranus was stone faced as he looked down at the body. Sharah stepped around him to check, but the man was very obviously dead. "Is that…?"

"Galtus Previa? Not sure. Maybe." She knelt down and tested the limbs. He'd been dead a few days. As she looked closer, Sharah's eye caught on something beneath him. She shoved the body to one side and pulled out a broken shield from where it lay, half buried beneath him. Sharah brushed if off and held her flare close to investigate. The shield was beat up and broken, from both disuse and combat, but the symbol was still discernible: Blackwood. Why in Oblivion was their insignia doing up here near Chorrol?

She swung the broken shield on her back, stood up and looked back to find Viranus still staring at the body. "Viranus?"

He looked at her like he was trapped in a dream, "He's dead. I can't believe it. So much death."

Sharah turned him from the body and steered him back down the passage, "Come on, V. Let's get back to Oreyn. We're not going to find anything else here."

He nodded slowly, "Yes, we…we should report this."

Sharah kept a hold of his arm the whole way out of the cave. Once outside, under the open sky, he seemed to regain some of his energy. At least enough that she didn't need to hold his hand on the way back to town. Seeing the body had shaken the poor man up fairly thoroughly. She wasn't sure if this was for the better or the worse. But it was experience. That would just have to be enough.

They reached the guildhall a couple hours after midnight and went inside. Sharah said, "I doubt we can report this tonight. Most everyone is probably in bed or at home…" Except there was still a light on the third floor. "…Or maybe not." Sharah actually considered telling Viranus they should report it tomorrow, just in case the light was Vilena. Hearing a Dunmeri growl of frustration actually lightened her mood and she led the way upstairs.

Oreyn was at the desk, still, a candle burning on the desk and a mess of paperwork lying in front of him. He was relieved to see them, "Good, you're back. What did you find out about Galtus Previa's disappearance?"

Viranus stood quiet until Sharah gave him a kick in the shin. "He's dead, sir."

"Dead? Damn. What got him?" Oreyn asked, rising from his seat.

"There were monsters in the cave…" Viranus ventured.

"Hm. That's probably it. Well done on the contract. I might make proper soldiers out of you yet." Oreyn reached into the desk and pulled out two pouches of gold and handed them to the fighters. Sharah was neither surprised, nor offended when her pouch was lighter than Viranus's. "Stick around, Sharah. I want a word with you."

Viranus caught the dismissal and tossed her an encouraging smile before leaving the office. He was in better spirits now, which was a good sign. Once the door downstairs had closed, Oreyn crossed his arms and asked her, "I'm glad you both got back in one piece. So, how did he do?"

"Well, he was…" Overdue for a contract? "…eager. Overly eager. The man literally threw himself into the fray before I could stop him. Mind you, it was just against trolls, but…he needs to get out more. Learn not to lose himself in a real fight, or he's gonna end up dead the first time someone's not there to watch his back. Galtus's body caught him off guard, too. Viranus is certainly no more used to death than combat. Oh, and about that," She pulled the shield off her back and handed it to Oreyn, "We found this with the body. Or I did. Viranus was still a little out of it. Do you recognize the symbols?"

Oreyn studied the broken shield, "Yes, I think I do."

Sharah leaned against the rail, "Blackwood. And there are a few other things Viranus didn't notice. The cave had been inhabited a while ago. There was evidence of a camp and blocked up passages. It could have been Previa. Or it could have been others. Even multiple others. And, Previa wasn't killed by the trolls. Nor had they eaten him. His wounds were from swords." A fact she had had no intention of saying with Viranus around. If he took a death by trolls so badly, there was no way to knowing how he'd react to a killing by people.

Oreyn looked up at her, "So what do you think?"

Sharah sighed, "I think there were other people in the cave. Maybe Galtus was working with them. Maybe he just stumbled on them. Either way, he was killed. These people left, the trolls moved in and probably just hadn't found the body yet. But I'd really rather not try and hypothesize how the Blackwood shield figures into it."

Oreyn turned the shield over a few times, contemplating, "Well that's certainly something to think about. I'll look into it. In the meantime, I've something for you. Consider it a thank you for…bending guild rules."

"Avoiding the guildmaster is against guild rules?" Sharah asked with mock concern.

Oreyn's lip twitched at her cheek and he offered her a fine elven dagger, "I noticed you lost your old one."

Sharah took the weapon and turned it over in her hands. The curve of the blade was new to her. But it was sharp and light, with good balance and length, and the finest quality. And enchanted by the feel of it. Sharah tapped the blade on the rail, where it scorched the wood. This had to have cost a pretty septim. "Thanks, Oreyn."

"You're welcome. Now go get some sleep. You've earned it." Then Oreyn turned back to the desk and the pile of paperwork.

Sharah moved to leave but hesitated on the top step. She looked back at the Dunmer, already falling into his scowl down at the work, and asked, "Would you like some help?" She'd never done paperwork before, didn't think she'd like it. But he'd been up here all night it seemed and was unlikely to find sleep for several hours yet.

The offer was genuine. Genuine enough that Oreyn only hesitated for a minute, "Yes. Pull up a seat, if you dare. And pay attention, because I won't be explaining these things more than once."

He did, of course. But she got the hang of it by the third time on the simple stuff. And before too long she knew exactly why Oreyn scowled. Acquisitions, repairs, replacements, complaints, member progress reports, etc, etc. And they came from every guild. And too much of it was from previous weeks, like it had piled up without anyone noticing. But she learned quickly and the two overly stubborn fighters plowed through a good portion of it before the sun rose.

Sharah glared down at an incident report from Bruma. Something to do with a battle axe that had resulted in damage to the hall. It came coupled with a request for reimbursement for what they spent to repair the damages. "It's not normally this busy, is it?"

Oreyn glanced up from a contract report and hesitated, as though deciding on his story, "No, some of this just got misplaced and we're playing catch up."

"I guess it's good that contracts didn't get misplaced."

He replied, "Contracts come directly to me. The rest of this gets sent to the office. Must have just ended up in a corner somewhere."

Sharah asked, "So, how much of this would be Guildmaster work?"

Oreyn looked at her intently, "Why do you ask?"

She shrugged, "It's just that I don't think Vilena is around very often. And I just thought that it might have piled up because she wasn't here to do it."

Oreyn kept watching her, "That's your Guildmaster you're talking about, Wolf. Try to keep that in mind."

"I know. And I am. I was just hoping to figure out how this all built up so it doesn't happen again."

In truth, she was hoping he'd try and explain. The intensity of Oreyn's response told her she'd struck a nerve by almost accusing the Guildmaster of negligence. Something was happening in the guild. Sharah was sure of that now. It might just be her experience as a thief, but there were too many little things that were adding up: why no one talked about Vitellus Donton, why Viranus was being kept from contracts while Vilena was more constantly a no show. Not to mention Oreyn not noticing Blackwood's presence even with Ragar's reports, a Blackwood shield showing up north of Chorrol, and now a sixteen hour stretch of paperwork that should have been done a month ago. Something was happening in the guild, and it had something to do with the Dontons. But there were still too many unanswered questions for Sharah to put the pieces together.

Or she might just be in a thief's withdrawal, letting her sleep deprivation warp her imagination into a conspiracy. Only time would tell.

Oreyn, however, did not let her goad him, "Sunrise. Time for bed. Go."

"What?" Sharah looked out the window and then down at the still present paperwork, "But there's still work to be done."

"And I'll do it. But you've clearly burned your oil out. Go get some sleep."

"What about you?"

The Dunmer shot her a look, "I've got a hundred and fifty years on you. Don't question me."

Sharah sighed, partly annoyed that he was keeping secrets, and party relieved that she could stop staring at letters and numbers on parchment. She picked up her shield and new dagger and headed downstairs. Sharah dropped her blades and shield, yanked off her boots and gauntlets, and fell asleep in full armor before the Magus had finished cresting the horizon.

XXX

She roused sometime after noon, but before she was properly rested. Probably because her internal clock didn't know how to wake her before sunrise when she'd gone to bed just after it. And Oreyn was still at the desk, scowling away. Sharah didn't immediately go to assist him. Instead she went downstairs for breakfast, or lunch given the time, and went back up to the office with a plate laden with food.

"What's this? Why are you still up?" Oreyn asked.

Sharah replied, "You're the only one who's still up, sir. You need to eat something."

"I ate something last night. Get back to bed. You look like Oblivion spat you out," he growled going back to his papers.

Sharah refused to back down, and placed the plate right on top of the papers he was working on. Oreyn shot her a glare that, a few weeks ago, would have frozen her solid. This time she met his eyes without flinching, "Please, Oreyn. We really can't afford to have you burn out your oil, too." By the Nine, she was turning into her mother. But it was genuine concern for the man, and he recognized it. So, begrudgingly, he started on the plate while Sharah took her seat and chose a document to begin with.

Modryn Oreyn was far too stubborn for his own good. He probably thought he was unstoppable. Sharah muffled a chuckle. He could try telling that the bags under his eyes. And his stubbornness didn't keep him from eating every scrap she'd brought him. Oreyn then shoved the plate over the table toward her, "Happy?"

Sharah didn't even look up from the sheet in her hand, "I'd be happier if you got some sleep." And there was her mother again. Had she not sworn just last night never to have kids? And Modryn Oreyn was not a kid. He was an angry Dunmer, over a century her senior, and her guild superior. That didn't mean she couldn't look out for him. Oreyn was so intent on taking care of the guild, he was forgetting to take care of himself. And if no one else was going to do it…

Oreyn growled, "Sleep is overrated." Then he looked down at the still significant pile of papers to be gone through. That did him in well enough. "Fine. One hour. You understand me? And only if it will keep you from nagging like an old hen."

Sharah hid a smile behind the sheet, "Yes, sir."

He went down the stairs, grumbling under his breath. Sharah had no intention of going to wake him in an hour. Without Vilena around, the guild needed him at full strength. Besides, the paperwork had been here a while. It could hang on for a few more hours.

Sharah took Oreyn's seat and dove in. She couldn't manage all of it. Some needed Oreyn's signature, others were small parts of some larger arrangements that she didn't understand, and others she set aside because she needed some question or other answered before completing it. But Sharah was making headway, and attempting to keep Oryen's organization as she did so. But one thing was quite clear. Even if it was necessary for a guild to continue running, she hated paperwork.

Sharah heard someone on the stairs while she was copying down what amount of contract income had been kept in the Anvil hall and how much had been sent to Chorrol. "Hang on. I'll be done in a moment." She finished noting the last of the sums and put the quill back in the inkwell before looking up. Then she came to her feet so fast it knocked the chair backward, "Master. I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting you."

Vilena Donton stood at the top of the stairs, regarding the young woman, "This is my office."

Sharah was flustered, "Yes, Master. Of course. And this is your chair. Sorry. You just caught me off guard." Sharah pulled the chair upright and retreated out from behind the desk.

But Vilena Donton did not make a move to claim her place, "I was hoping to find Oreyn here. Where is he?"

"Resting, Master. He was up late completing some…overdue paperwork," Sharah said. What she wanted to say was Oreyn was up late completing **her** overdue paperwork. But that would be out of line.

Vilena looked at the desk as though it were something altogether new to her, "Oh. I have been meaning to do that." She spoke softly and like one in a daze. "And you are?"

Sharah stood straight, "Sharah the Wolf, Master. Protector rank. I was here assisting him."

Vilena nodded and walked with an aged gait around the desk to her chair. Sharah took the opportunity to observe her. She remembered being recruited into the guild. The day after she helped fight off the goblins at the Odiil farm, Oreyn had hunted her down at the Gray Mare and recommended that she sign up. Sharah had met the Guildmaster that day, Vilena Donton having actually filled out the paperwork and welcomed her into the guild.

Her hair had been grayed and her face weathered, but the Guildmaster had still been strong. There had been a fire in her eyes, a confidence in her voice, she'd sat straight and carried the iron cuirass like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But this was not that same woman. Four years had aged her like twenty. There was no inner strength, no fiery passion. Vilena still wore the cuirass, but it weighed her down. She was stooped, her head bowed and she moved like an aged grandmother. This woman was old and worn.

Vilena Donton looked up, "You're dismissed, Protector. I'll handle the rest of this." The order came out strong, but the strength didn't reach her eyes.

"Yes, Master," Sharah bowed and left the office. Sharah used the next few hours to train and bathe and eat, then went back up to check on the office. It was empty, and the paperwork was exactly as Sharah had left it. Her thief's curiosity got the best of her. If she hadn't come to do paperwork, then what had Vilena done up here?

One glance down at the first floor and Sharah ventured behind the desk, looking for clues. She mentally thanked Gray for drilling her in this sort of thing when her observation noted a drawer that was just off its runner. Sharah listened carefully for any movement downstairs and then opened the drawer. It was mostly junk and office supplies. But digging down further, Sharah saw a file, fairly buried beneath everything else in the drawer. Sharah pulled it out and opened it. It was a contract report from Second Seed of two years ago.

_Client: Argoth, mage._

_Task: Retrieve artifact from Azani Blackheart (location: Arpenia)_

_ *Artifact description: enchanted elven claymore (Sinweaver)_

The report went on to list twenty members chosen to complete the contract. Oreyn's name was among them. So was Ragar's. And Vitellus Donton. At the bottom of the first page was written the word: incomplete. The next page was an after report, including a list of the dead…Vitellus Donton among them.

Sharah had to take a breath. So this was the contract Vitellus died on. Sharah read through it again. She didn't know this Azani. And the contract report was only bare bones. But the pages were worn, like it was removed and returned to the hiding spot often. But the fact that it was hidden and not filed with the rest of the reports told her more than the words themselves. Another piece to the puzzle: Vilena was looking at the report, but keeping it from roving eyes. But was it from her son, or for herself. It might explain why she was so changed…might. Sharah would have to ask to be certain. But there was no way to tell how Vilena would react to the question, and Oreyn was defensive. She'd have to find the right time.

The file was returned to beneath the clutter, and the drawer was closed. Then Sharah turned back to her task, with something else to think about later when she had the time. Another two hours and she had done all she could manage. There were still a few hours of work here, but it was all things she couldn't do on her own. As much as she hated to walk away now, the rest of the work would have to wait for Oreyn, who was still asleep in one of the empty beds. An example she was more than happy to follow now that it was almost sunset. Hopefully, now she could go to sleep and wake up back on her normal schedule. Once rested, she could put her mind to what was happening in the guild. Hopefully before Blackwood made their next move. Or something else happened.

**Ah, Vitellus. We hardly...didn't actually...know thee. Wish we could have. I wonder if he was as cute as his brother.**

**Please review.**


	13. The Rise of Hackdirt

**Yes! Another chapter. Sorry for the wait, real life is rearing its ugly head. Expect more delays between updates. I appreciate those who are following this.**

**I shouldn't have to tell you, but I don't own the Elder Scrolls. I do own my OC, so keep your hands to yourself.**

Over the next couple weeks, Sharah's place in the guildhall evolved. About once a day Oreyn would be heard to yell, "Sharah! Office! Now!" Apparently, like the dancing on Heart's Day, volunteering for paperwork the first time left her open to being called back again and again. She and Oreyn would sit at the Guildmaster's desk and he would instruct her on the facets of the work that she hadn't understood to begin with. Noting down contract information and member fees was one thing, figuring out taxes in each city was something altogether different. Really it was everything having to do with running the guild, though. He assigned her more and more of the regular paperwork that came in, which freed him up to do…something else. He didn't tell her what and she didn't ask. But she no longer doubted that this was work that Vilena was supposed to be doing. Sharah also didn't ask why it was falling to Oreyn's assistant instead.

The work was not nearly as lengthy as that pile they'd tackled to begin with. Once they were caught up, the daily stuff only took an hour or so each day. Then she was back to her usual schedule…which included getting wailed on by Oreyn's mace. But now, he talked guild work over their weapons as well. As if she didn't have enough to occupy her mind. Sharah was a little worried about becoming the guild desk jockey. But Oreyn was quick to assure her it was just temporary, and he was still going to send her out to handle guild matters and the difficult contracts. Then his mace slipped through an opening and connected with her gut and she went down coughing.

At first, it was a chore. Something that had to be done. But as she worked, Sharah began to pick up some things beyond the pile of papers and tasks. The more of it Sharah handled, the more she really learned about the guild. Looking back at past records, she noticed that in the last couple years, contracts and recruitment had declined. Not terribly, but steadily. And in the last few months, they'd lost actual members as well. Mostly it was the part time members, or those who were less skilled or had day jobs elsewhere. But membership was down. It could be because there were fewer contracts. There wasn't enough information for her to figure out what though. Just looking at paperwork, she didn't know what was a cause and what was an effect. And Sharah really didn't know how to go about filling in the blanks. At least the extra work kept her away from the people she was avoiding. For a while anyway.

XXX

Sharah was practicing outside with her new dagger when one of them did seek her out. She'd spent some time working with the blade already. Even just drawing and sheathing it helped her become accustomed to the weight and feel. Today she was throwing it at a wooden post behind the hall, her new defender rank patch displayed around her bicep. Oreyn had passed it to her over the desk the previous day. When she managed to lodge the point in as intended, there would be a brief burst of flame against the wood. The harsher portion of her mind wondered how much it would hurt if the target were made of flesh. How likely it was the flesh would catch fire. Or the difference in the enchantment's harm from a cut vs a stab.

"Sharah?"

She was brought out of her musings, but not with a smile, "Hello, Guilbert. Can I help you?" She didn't stand waiting for an answer, but walked over to retrieve her dagger. She was still a little bitter about the whole romantic interest thing. Especially considering that not one of those involved had bothered to apologize for leaving her in the dark. Not even Cargas and Lashana had taken that step, and they lived in the guildhall with her.

"Well, yes. I wanted to talk to you," the Imperial said hesitantly.

"What about?"

Guilbert scratched at his hair saying, "You told me…us…that you didn't want to court because you weren't ready."

"I remember saying that," Sharah replied, returning to throwing distance.

"And since then you have kept your distance from us."

"And?"

He took a breath, "And I think that's because you're angry at us for not being direct with you."

She chuckled harshly, "Did it really take you this long to figure that out?" She hurled the knife at the target, which received another scorching mark.

Before she could go get it, Guilbert Jemane placed himself directly in front of her, "I'm sorry for not telling you. I was afraid it would ruin our friendship. And now it has. So this is me being direct with you." He took another deep breath and said, "I care about you. A great deal. You're the most amazing person I've ever met. And I want to spend time with you, like we used to."

Sharah skirted him, avoiding his eyes, "We can't go back to the way things were, Guilbert. Our…relationship isn't the same."

"I know," he insisted, "But maybe we could try something else?"

She yanked out the blade and turned to look at him, "Such as?"

Guilbert clasped his hands and said carefully, like he'd rehearsed it, "I propose that we go on an adventure. Just the two of us. So we can get used to each other's company again." He dropped his hands and his eyes turned desperate, "You may not be ready now, and you might not be for a while. But you are worth waiting for, and I swear I will. Wait, I mean. But avoiding each other is not helping. So…what's the harm in trying something else? And if this doesn't work out, or if you feel uncomfortable, then I'll give you your space until you say otherwise. I promise."

Sharah turned the dagger between her fingers. He did have…several valid points. And, in truth, she missed having friends to talk to. And he had apologized. He was the first. That earned him some points toward redemption. The corner of her mouth lifted a little. And if this did blow up in her face she could at least go back to sulking. "And what would this adventure be?"

Guilbert smiled, heartened, "You remember I told you about my family home, Weatherleah? Well, I think we should go out and try to find it."

The seconds ticked by as she made her final decision. "I'll have to clear this with Oreyn."

"I've already asked him, and he said yes." When Sharah's eyes flashed Guilbert rushed to explain, "It wasn't going behind your back. I just wanted to be sure I wasn't asking for something you wouldn't be allowed to do anyway."

"Hm. I'd still prefer to hear his answer for myself."

The answer was spot on anyway. Oreyn made some conditions: that she not be reckless and that she be back before the month was out. At least he didn't call her out on her having used work to avoid dealing with her issues. That much she appreciated. Sharah gathered her blades, Chillrend and Umbra now coupled with her new dagger, as well as a small travel pack. She didn't anticipate being out of town for more than a week. Still, there were some small things she needed to get from the trader in town. So Guilbert left for home to pack and Sharah headed to Northern Goods and Trade.

Seed-Neeus, the Argonian proprietor, was beside herself. She leapt to her feet the moment Sharah opened the door and collapsed back into the chair when it was not who she'd hoped. Sharah approached uncertainly while the Argonian woman held her face in her hands, "Seed-Neeus, are you alright?"

"No, no. I'm worried sick. I just don't…" Seed-Neeus caught sight of Sharah's weaponry, then reached out and snatched her hand, "Are you a warrior? An adventurer?"

"Well…yes—"

Seed-Neeus's eyes lit up in recognition, "Yes, you are Sharah the Wolf. Oh, you must help. Please. My daughter, Dar-Ma, is missing and I just don't know what to do!"

Sharah gripped the hand on her arm, giving what strength she could and knelt before the woman, "It's alright. Are you sure she isn't just late?" Sharah had met the girl outgoing and friendly. Perhaps a bit too much so, but she was a sweet kid.

Seed-Neeus shook her head, tears flowing down the scales of her cheeks, "No. She should have been here yesterday. I'm terribly worried. Please you must help me. I don't know the wilderness, and something could have happened to her."

"Seed-Neeus, look at me and focus. Do you remember where she went?"

"Yes, of course. She went to Hackdirt to make a delivery. We do business with Etira Moslin there. I wasn't feeling well, so Dar-Ma insisted on going," the woman was about to dissolve into tears again, "If anything has happened to her, I'll never forgive myself."

Sharah gripped Seed-Neus's shoulders, "It's alright. I will go and find your daughter. And I will bring her home. You have my word." Guilbert would just have to wait. This was a family matter, and Sharah would not turn it away. And she was already packed, mostly. "I need a few things for my journey. Can you supply me? It's not much."

The Argonian nodded, "Yes, of course. Thank you."

A few minutes later Sharah was out the door, a look of determination on her face. Hackdirt. She knew about where it was located. But the path to it was scant, and too rough to make good time with her horse, especially after dark. And the wilderness to the south was not steed friendly. The bay was likely to get hurt. So on foot would be best.

Outside in the street, Guilbert was waiting for her…and speaking harshly to Rallus Odiil. Damn. As if things weren't complicated enough.

When he saw her, Rallus demanded, "You're going out with him? I thought you wanted space. You told us both to leave you be."

"I did. And I meant it. This is just an experiment," Sharah said.

"So now you're experimenting with him, too. If you wanted him, all you had to do was say so. Never mind me getting in the way or anything. Never mind that we've known each other longer, or that we've actually fought together."

Oh, Gods, he was just going off. "It's not like that. This doesn't mean I'm picking him. And it doesn't matter anyway because I'm calling it off."

Guilbert started, "What? Why?"

Sharah turned to him, "Dar-Ma is missing. Seed-Neeus's daughter. She went to Hackdirt and never came back. We'll just have to do this later. I can't leave her out there if I can help. She's barely twelve years old."

Her words calmed Rallus in an instant, "Hackdirt? You're going to Hackdirt?"

"Yes."

His accusatory tone was utterly gone now, "Well you can't go alone. You have to take someone with you."

Guilbert glared at him, "And I suppose you want to accompany her?"

Rallus returned the look, "Not everything is about our disagreements, Guilbert. Since you're not a native, you don't know, but Hackdirt is a dangerous place." He turned to Sharah, "Thirty years ago, something bad happened down there. Bad enough the Imperial Legion had to be called in. They burned the town to the ground. Anyone still living there is dangerous and not to be trusted. It's likely they had something to do with Dar-Ma's disappearance. You need someone to watch your back. You are not going alone. I'm not going to let you."

Sharah shook her head, "No. You're both liable to just slow me down, and Dar-Ma's been missing for a full day."

Guilbert replied, "Then we don't have time to waste. If Rallus actually knows how to use that sword, I think he should come with us."

"Us?" she snapped.

"Yes. I'm with him," Guilbert said, "You're not going alone. And there's safety in numbers." He glanced over at Rallus, "How long before you're ready to leave?"

Rallus replied, "Give me a half an hour and I'll meet you at the stables."

"Hang on! Now you two are suddenly on the same side?" Sharah demanded.

Guilbert replied, "If it's protecting you, then yes. And if you do insist on leaving now, keep in mind that we'll just follow you." Rallus's expression echoed the sentiment.

Sharah's brow furrowed and she looked up at the Magus. They weren't going to make it to Hackdirt before nightfall. But there was no question about leaving soon. And she didn't have time to argue with them, or the heart to leave them traipsing through the wilderness playing catch up with her, "Fine. But let's get a few things clear. If you come, you're going to do exactly what I say exactly when I say it. And I don't want any arguments between you two or mention of our…history, until Dar-Ma is found and out of danger. Agreed?" They agreed. She looked at Rallus, "We'll see you at the stables in a half an hour then."

XXX

This was a mistake. She never should have agreed to this. She should have ditched the both of them and just traveled through the night so they couldn't catch up. And why did she have to agree to Guilbert's little excursion in the first place? Why was this the one thing she couldn't be decisive about? It was nice of them to worry. But protecting her? But she was the warrior, not them. They shouldn't be here at all.

But they were extra eyes and extra hands. Sharah was used to being alone and handling things as such. But if this entire town was so dangerous…having people there to watch her back could only benefit her. Even if it was these two. Sharah sighed. She couldn't think of them as potential suitors, only as companions on this rescue mission. Anything else would just distract her. And this wasn't about any of them; this was about Dar-Ma.

At least they were being civil. Quiet, but civil. The three of them made good time, following the tracks of Dar-Ma's horse, Blossom. They stopped after sunset when the hoof prints and the thin track through the woods got lost in the dark. They could have pressed on with a lit torch and a flare in her hand. But not only was it more likely they'd lose the trail but, Sharah didn't want to come on the town after dark. Not if Hackdirt was as bad as Rallus had said.

Camp was, again, quiet but civil. Sharah had half expected them to start arguing and competing over whatever was available. But they recognized now wasn't the time. Thank Mara, they could put aside their rivalry for the cause. But once Sharah stopped worrying about Rallus and Guilbert, she started worrying about the girl. Dar-Ma could have gotten in trouble at the town. Or something could have happened to her along the wild track. Or any number of things. Sharah might be too late to help her. It was that more than watch that kept her awake.

They rose at first light and started off again, still following the thin track. Before too long, Sharah discerned a change in the horse's gait. A thrown shoe? Likely, and exactly why Sharah hadn't ridden herself. And hopefully that meant that Dar-Ma had spent less time in the town. Sharah increased their pace and the trio saw the town of Hackdirt through the trees just before midday.

Sharah got chills at first sight. Most of the town was burned out husks of buildings with rotted wood still clinging in some places. The trees had grown up and through and over them, as though the forest were attempting to swallow the town up. Even the buildings that still stood looked pitiful and ramshackle, showing every year of their age and then some, the chapel included, with stained stone and broken windows with cloth fixed over them to keep the forest environment out. And even the environment was off. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels or wildlife to be seen wandering the wilderness that was very clearly seeking to reclaim the land that Hackdirt was built on.

The whole place felt…wrong. When the trio got close enough to the town boundary she got a bad feeling. Like there was a bitter, bad taste in the back of her mouth, except it was in her head. Yes, the town left a bad taste in the back of her mind. But she shoved it away. They had to find Dar-Ma, and the trail of her horse led right into town. Now was not the time to get squeamish over a feeling that made her want to scrub her brain down with soap.

The streets were deserted and Sharah counted six buildings still intact. Or at least as close as you could get to intact, as nearly every one looked as though it were just clinging to existence. The whole place looked like it should be deserted. Save for the flash of a curtain being drawn.

Sharah kept her eyes forward but aware of everything on the peripheral of her vision. "Dar-Ma came to make a delivery to the trader. We should start there. Guilbert, you're with me. Rallus, keep watch outside and don't draw attention."

Rallus replied, "What attention? There's no one here."

Sharah cast a glance around at the windows, all of which had shades drawn, "No one that we see. Keep your guard up."

Sharah and Guilbert entered the trader's building, who's sign was hanging by a single chain. Inside was a sour looking Imperial woman who must be the Etira Moslin that Seed-Neeus said they did business with. Her store seemed devoid of most common goods and anything that was present was just left around haphazardly. She glared at the two newcomers, "What do you want?"

Sharah ignored the obviously inhospitable tone and said, "My name is Sharah, and this is Guilbert Jemane. We're here looking for a young Argonian girl named Dar-Ma. She came out here to deliver some goods to you and never came home. Have you seen her?"

The woman replied, "I don't know any Dar-Ma. But if you're talking about that cursed Argonian swindler from Chorrol, then I'd like to know where she is too. She never showed up. How am I supposed to run a shop without any merchandise? You tell her I want half off on my next delivery."

Sharah inclined her head toward Etira, "Thank you. We'll deliver the message. If you do see Dar-Ma, would you please let us know?"

The woman agreed gruffly and Sharah and Guilbert left the shop. Once outside, Guilbert asked, "Well, perhaps we need to try the trail again. Maybe she got lost along the way."

"Maybe not," Sharah said absently. Guilbert looked uncertainly at her. "The tracks of Dar-Ma's horse led right into town. And given the state of the animal life around here," or lack thereof, "I doubt the horse would have come here unless it was being guided. Which means Dar-Ma arrived with the horse. She got here. The question is, what happened then? The next thing to do is check the inn."

"Sharah!" Rallus called from near the burned out building behind the shop, "You should come over here."

She answered the bidding and Rallus pointed within the ruin to a paint horse. It stood, favoring one leg. The same leg that the horse on the trail had thrown a shoe from. And to top it all off, on the right flank of the mare was a spot in the shape of a flower. Sharah approached the creature, "Blossom?" The mare lifted its head and its ears perked forward. Sharah smiled grimly. Dar-Ma's beloved horse. So where was the girl?

"Hey, you!" Etira Moslin had followed them out of her shop to investigate the three and was now coming toward them, "What are you three doing back here?"

Sharah kept an even tone, "Looking for Dar-Ma, of course. And it seems we found her horse behind your shop." The question hung in the air, and Sharah wanted to see the response.

Etira didn't hesitate, "That's my horse. Owned it for years. Now I want all three of you off my property."

Sharah didn't resist. But as soon as they were out of hearing, Rallus said, "I know that horse. It's Dar-Ma's."

"I know," Sharah reaplied, "But accusing Etira isn't going to help. Let's try the inn next and see what story we find there."

The story was the same: that Dar-Ma had never been in the town. And it was no more convincing given that Etira's brother was the proprietor. Looking at him...he had the same wrong feel as the town. His face seemed warped or twisted, although Sharah couldn't put her finger on what features were out of place. None the less, they got no answers from him. So Sharah purchased use of his two available rooms for the night. The price was outrageous but she didn't intend on leaving until she learned exactly what happened to Dar-Ma.

Sharah sat outside, thinking about her next step. They'd have to question everyone they could find in town, just in case. Then search the town for any sign of the girl. Sharah might have to break into a few houses tonight and look around.

While Sharah was musing, one of the townsfolk approached the well. He was middle aged and seemed agitated. He kept looking in her direction while pulling up water. Sharah said to her companions, "I'm gonna get a drink. I'll be right back."

She approached the well, and the uneasy man, "Excuse me. May I fill my water skin?" He grunted and passed her the bucket, wavering between irritation and nervousness. Sharah took a drink and started to very deliberately pour the remainder into her skin, "I don't suppose you've seen a young Argonian girl around here. She answers to Dar-Ma. Narrow snout, earthy coloring, very sweet?"

The man's eyes darted around and he whispered, "I can't say anything here. They'll get suspicious. The girl's in danger. Meet me at my house after dark. It's the one up the hill by the inn. I'll leave the door unlocked."

Sharah gave an almost imperceptible nod, "Thank you. My name's Sharah, by the way."

"Jiv Hiriel," he replied.

"Good to meet you, sir. You should probably say something rude to me about now," Sharah recommended, passing the bucket back to him.

He looked at her with appreciation as he snatched the bucket away, growling loudly, "Mind your damn business stranger!" But the anger in his tone didn't reach his eyes.

Sharah backed off, hands raised in surrender and returned to her companions. When she got close Sharah whispered, "I've got a lead. But we need to keep up appearances. Look around the town, ask the townsfolk, see what you learn. But be back at the inn before sundown."

There couldn't have been more than a half dozen people in the town. The three dutifully knocked on doors, asked questions, but no one in Hackdirt was sharing. They were quite adverse to having strangers around as well. Sharah walked the town's exterior looking for tracks while the sun was up. Again, nothing. She could only hope that Jiv Hiriel had the information she needed.

Back at the inn, Sharah took one room and her companions the other. But there was a third door on the hallway that tickled at her curiosity. The three of them shared a meal, also outrageously priced, and then retired. Really, none of them wanted to spend too much time in the same room as that creepy publican. But Sharah didn't lie down, or even unpack. She hid her pack beneath the bed and stood at the door, casting her life detect spell and counting the minutes. The moment the publican moved from view of the stairway, Sharah slipped out of the room and next door to the third apartment. The Skeleton Key made quick work of the lock and she was inside.

The room was trashed. Furniture broken, a cupboard upturned. There had been a struggle here. No wonder he only offered two rooms. If Dar-Ma had been staying here…what could have happened? There was a small book lodged beneath the broken bed that caught Sharah's eye. She lifted the heavy frame just enough to slip it free and flipped through the pages. Dar-Ma's diary. She _had_ made it to town. She wrote about her horse throwing a shoe, the trader not letting her in, the inn keeper's creepy face (so she'd noticed too), and then a sound at the door before going to bed. This was not good. And clearly something had come in the night and taken her. Although the girl had put up a fight in the process. The little Argonian might turn into a fighter if she could just learn some healthy suspicion.

The book went into Sharah's pocket and she back into the hallway, snatching her pack from her room and then going to Guilbert and Rallus's door. They'd locked it. A wise move, but she had a daedric lock picker. Although, as the thing worked she picked up some conversation from inside. "You really think she'd be content inside city walls?" "I never said we'd stay in Chorrol. And for your information, I know Weatherleah is further from the city than your farmhouse."

Sharah opened the door and slipped inside, startling the two men into silence as she closed it behind and locked it again. "Sharah! What…what are you doing here?" Rallus blustered, snatching for a shirt.

She didn't allow herself to blush, "A man in town, Jiv Hiriel, told me he had information about Dar-Ma and that she's in danger. I'm going to meet him now and thought you'd like to know."

"And why couldn't you tell us earlier?" Guilbert asked.

"Because this town is wrong. The place, the people… Something is off. I couldn't chance anything being overheard." She tossed her pack in the corner and stepped up to the window, "I'm going to meet him alone. Keep the door locked and make sure one of you is awake at all times. Someone snatched Dar-Ma from the last room down the hall. I don't want the same happening to you two."

Guilbert asked, "Let us come with you. This could be a trap."

She pushed open the window pane, "It could be. But I can move unseen. I doubt you two have the same skill. And he'll be more likely to talk if we don't mob him. And we need him to talk. Stay here, keep the door locked, and keep watch. I'll be back in a couple hours." Sharah slipped out the window and climbed like a spider down the outside wall.

The town was no less creepy at night than during the day. She skirted the buildings, using the burned ruins as cover to get to the house up the hill that Jiv Hiriel had directed her too. She tried the door to find it unlocked as promised, and went inside with a hand on her dagger just in case.

Jiv Hiriel was pacing before the fire, chewing on a fingernail and jumped when she closed the door with a click. He gasped a sigh of relief, "Good. You came. I don't have a lot of time. I have to get to the gathering before I'm missed."

Sharah replied, "Then you need to talk quick. Where's Dar-Ma?"

He pleaded, "You have to believe me. I didn't know what they were planning. They want to bring back the Deep Ones. I thought I did, too, but…she's so innocent."

Sharah repeated, "Where's Dar-Ma?" This time with more demand.

Jiv looked up, "They've got her down in the caverns. They're going to sacrifice her! Etira found the old books, learned to speak the runes. She says the Old Ones want blood or they'll not help us."

"Help you what? Why sacrifice an innocent at all?"

He looked into the fire, seeing his memories play out in front of him, "Our grandfather's found the Old Ones while digging in the mine. They helped us, made us rich. But they wanted blood…and worse. Then the soldiers came. I was just a boy, but I remember running and hiding while everything burned. We hid and vowed revenge. But the Deep Ones never came back. We waited for them for so long, and then Etira found the books… We were all so angry for the outsiders destroying our town. But this…You have to save her!" He rummaged around in his pocket and pulled out a key, "Here. The caverns run all underneath the town. Every house has an entrance. But the one in Moslin's inn will be closest too where they're keeping her. But you have to be careful of the Brethren."

"Brethren?" she asked.

He nodded, "Those of us who've changed the most. They live down in the caverns to be nearer the Deep Ones. They don't like the sunlight much. And they're dangerous. Be careful. For her sake."

Sharah took the key, "Is there anything else?"

Jiv said walking to the door, "The townsfolk are gathering tonight, preparing for the…ceremony. You have to get her out soon, or they'll kill her."

Sharah nodded already running through plans in her mind, "I will. And Jiv…" He looked up at her. "…thank you. She owes you her life."

The man's head ducked in response and Sharah hurried out the door. She couldn't help but wonder: if they hadn't come, would he have tried to get her out or just gone along out of fear. It didn't matter. Dar-Ma had rescuers now. But they'd have to move fast and unseen.

Sharah scaled the inn wall as silently as she'd come down. Guilbert was dozing and Rallus had a naked blade in his hands, watching the door. He looked up at her entrance, "So?"

She closed the window behind her and nudged Guilbert awake before briefing them, "Dar-Ma's being held in the caverns beneath the town. There's an entrance here in the inn that will get us close to her. We need to move soon. The townsfolk are planning on sacrificing her to some deity they found in the mine. So we have to get her out immediately and disappear before they realize she's gone."

Guilbert rubbed his eyes free of sleep to widen them in horror, "Sacrifice?"

Sharah nodded while strapping her pack on, "Yeah. They call them the Old One. They were the trouble thirty years ago. Now the townsfolk are trying to repeat the experience with Dar-Ma to start."

Rallus stood from the bed and reached for his sword, "We can't let them do it."

Sharah motioned for him to settle, "We won't." She went to the door and cast her spell of life detection. "He's still down there. If he doesn't leave for the gathering in the next half hour, we'll go down and deal with him. But I'd rather he be left unaware."

The moments ticked by, both men on edge while Sharah remained as motionless as a statue where she stood, whispering her spell quietly every once in a while and staring through the floor at the immediate obstacle to their next movement. Following the sound of a closing door, Sharah turned the lock back and motioned for them to follow.

They went down the stairs and found the trapdoor behind the counter in the back. Guilbert was left topside to keep watch and Rallus and Sharah ventured down into the caverns after the girl. The initial entrance was dark and Sharah's spell told her the way was clear. But there was torchlight ahead and around a corner which turned out to light the prison chamber where a set of bars had been driven into the rock. Inside, curled up in a corner in a position of pure terror, was a young Argonian girl.

Sharah motioned for Rallus to keep watch and went at the lock with her Skeleton Key. The door squeaked as she opened it and Dar-Ma's head shot up and she scuttled back to the wall, eyes wide and squealing, "NO! Don't! Please!"

Sharah held up her hands, begging for silence, "Dar-Ma. It's alright. I'm not one of them. Your mother sent me. She got worried and sent us to bring you home."

Hope battled with fear and the girl flung herself into Sharah's arms. Sharah could hear the girl's heart beating hard and fast as she clung to her rescuer, sobbing, "They were so…scary. I…I wanna…go home."

Sharah held her tight and carried her out of the cell, "I know, honey. It's ok. We're taking you home now." The woman drew the girl back and looked her in the eye, "Now, Dar-Ma, listen closely. We're going to get you home. But we're not there yet. You have to promise me, no matter what happens, you can't make a sound. We all need to be very quiet or they'll find us again. Can you do that?" Dar-Ma clamped her mouth shut and nodded. "Good girl," Sharah assured her, and they hurried down the passage back to the ladder.

Sharah urged Dar-Ma to climb the ladder to where Guilbert waited. Rallus followed, then Sharah herself. Sharah insisted that Rallus take the girl while she and Guilbert covered them, Sharah being better as a guard then a carrier. She checked the door to the outside. Not a light to be seen, except in the chapel. So she led them outside, all of them keeping to the shadows.

Outside, Dar-Ma looked around and whispered, "Where's Blossom? We can't leave her here."

Sharah put her finger to her lips, "I'll go find her. You two, head south. They won't expect it. We'll get some distance between us and town, then circle back toward Chorrol. Go, I'll catch up."

They obeyed and Sharah slipped the other way around the inn. Blossom was going to slow them up with a thrown shoe. There was no way she was going to bring the horse with them. But the mare could serve another purpose. Blossom woke as Sharah approached, "Easy, Blossom." The woman unhooked the mare's halter and led the beast from the ruins of the building and all the way to the trail north out of town. "Sorry, dear. But you'll better serve your mistress as a decoy tonight. Go home. We'll bring her shortly." Sharah pulled the halter off and then smacked Blossom's rump with the flat of her dagger's blade. The blow singed the hair and the horse let out a scream before bolting off.

Sharah melted into the night just as the horse's cry brought people out of the chapel. Sharah didn't wait for them to check the inn or the cell, but made off into the dark. She was a master thief. These crazy cultists wouldn't find her tracks, and they wouldn't even look for the men's tracks southward.

Giving the town a wide birth, Sharah hurried in the direction she'd sent the company. Coming on them, Rallus was saying, "Should we go back for her?"

They all jumped when Sharah came out of the shadows immediately in front of them, "No, keep moving."

Dar-Ma craned her head around, "Where's Blossom?"

"I sent her home. We need to move faster than she can. She'll be fine, honey. Let's get going while it's still dark."

There was no further conversation as she led them through the wilderness. When Sharah deemed it distance enough she began circling them eastward to go back to Chorrol.

**Review please. Every chapter counts, I love to read your thoughts.**


	14. Battle of Weatherleah

**Here's a new update. I just realized I've been misspelling Guilbert's last name from how it's spelled in the game. Why did no one tell me? I have gone back and fixed it. But really, you people have got to get on the ball. You're not here to enjoy ourselves, you're here to…oh, wait…**

**Now, back to our whirlwind-esk adventure.**

Sharah was reasonably sure the Hackdirt cultists wouldn't catch them, but that didn't prevent her from keeping Chillrend out. Night waned around the group as they passed virtually unnoticed beneath the shadow of the forest's canopy. Sharah led the way, Guilbert and his warhammer at the back, and Rallus carrying Dar-Ma piggyback, while the girl dozed off on his shoulder.

None of them had gotten any real sleep the night before. And after a few hours of travel and no sign or sound of pursuit, Sharah was beginning to think of finding a place to rest for a while when she glimpsed an unnatural structure between the trees. She adjusted their course toward it. At the top of a small hill, just as the first light of day could be discerned on the horizon, they looked down at a broken down farmhouse that was oddly placed in the middle of nowhere. Sharah was almost afraid it was another Hackdirt building, but this was too far from the town. And it didn't have that unpleasant feel about it.

Guilbert looked for a moment. Then his eyes widened in recognition and he leapt down the slope toward the structure. Sharah and Rallus followed more cautiously. Guilbert moved along front of the house, a gleeful look on his face, "This…this is it. Sharah, this is it! This is Weatherleah!"

"You're family home?" she asked, scanning the whole thing. It looked sized for a family. There was a large tear in the roof, foliage grown up over the walls, the fences were busted in and the well was missing several stones. But it was far from as bad as Hackdirt. The forest seemed almost to have made a place for this homestead instead of trying to consume it like the town.

Guilbert darted around, "Yes. Yes! I remember. The garden was here. And the well. Reynald and I would play on that hill while mother would sit here and watch." He was living in his memories for a few moments. Sharah wished her's were so pleasant.

Dar-Ma stirred on Rallus's shoulder and looked about where they'd ended up. "Are we staying here?" she asked with a yawn.

Rallus looked over at Sharah, "I think it's as good a place as any. Better to have a roof over our heads."

Sharah cast a quick life detect spell and saw nothing inside to worry about. So she nodded absently, looked back to scan the wild. Guilbert took Dar-Ma's hand when Rallus set her down, "Let's see if the well still has a bucket." The bucket was still serviceable but the rope was rotted. Luckily that was among their supplies and they used the coupling to draw up water for everyone to wash. The girl probably needed to feel clean after being taken prisoner as she had been. But Sharah was still watching the forest as the dawn began to brighten it. She inhaled the crisp morning air. There was something else on the breeze that picked at a memory on the edge of her mind, but she couldn't place it.

Guilbert went to the door, which had been open for so long there was dirt and debris built up all around the base like a doorstop, "Home. I wasn't even sure I'd see it again." He stepped inside as though returning to a place of comfort rather than its ruin. Dar-Ma trotted after him.

"Sharah?" She hardly noticed Rallus come up behind her, so intent was she on the forest. "I wanted to apologize. In Chorrol, I snapped at you and it was wrong of me. I guess that I just—"

Whatever he was going to say was cut off by a scream from inside the farmhouse. Both of them whirled and sprinted for the house to meet Dar-Ma running out. She ran into Sharah's arms, shrieking, "There are bones everywhere!"

Sharah only needed that and a whiff from in the house. Guilbert came staggering out, white as a sheet, just as Sharah snapped, "Inside. Everyone inside, now!"

Dar-Ma struggled against her hold, "No, no, no!"

Sharah didn't have time to argue and passed her to Guilbert, "Get her inside. Rallus, help me get this door loose. Hurry!" They kicked and dug at the base of the thing and pulled it across rusted hinges to shut them inside. The latch was too far gone, but the bolt was still serviceable and Sharah slid it home. "Rallus, find anything you can to block up the entrance."

"Why? What's going on?" he asked.

"Ogres," Guilbert gasped over Dar-Ma's whimpering form, finally speaking from a state of paralyzed fear.

The floor of the main room was littered with bones and broken furniture heaped into nests. Nests. Plural. Damn! A whole pack of ogres. Sharah told Rallus, "They drove the Jemanes from Weatherleah years ago. I guess they decided to stick around. I have no idea how we got in here without meeting them, but we can thank the Divines about that later. Now we need to barricade the door."

Rallus leapt to do it, and Dar-Ma started crying when Guilbert made to assist. Sharah held out her arms, "Give her to me." Guilbert passed the girl to her woodenly and went to help Rallus heft a table from the lower level.

Sharah carried Dar-Ma around the chimney and up the stairs to the second floor where she set her in a corner, urging the girl to remain still and silent. Then she ran back downstairs, snatching a broken chair to wedge in with the rest of the detritus the men had pulled from the nests. She cast the life detect spell again before braving to check the rest of the house for possible access points. The building was worn, but any holes in the house were too high up for any sized ogre to take advantage of while the bottom was built of sturdy stone. And even they couldn't punch through stone walls. Although the gaping hole in the roof might afford the group escape if things went badly.

Back downstairs, she said, "The only way to reach us is through the door. Probably why they decided to den up here. They're mostly nocturnal, so they should return to their den anytime now."

Rallus was worried, but Guilbert was bordering on terrified. "What…what if they do get in here?"

She looked at Guilbert as though he'd asked why one breathed, "We fight them. We hold them here as long as possible. If worse comes to worse, take Dar-Ma and go for the hole in the roof. Then run and aim for the sun. They don't like it much. Might convince them to stop chasing after a while. But say together."

Rallus looked at her, catching something in her voice that bid him ask, "You'll be with us…right?"

Sharah glared back, "I'll hold them here as long as I can." Before he could speak against her, she growled, "You're no warrior. I am. You'll take Dar-Ma and run. No arguments. Let's try to make that unnecessary, shall we?"

Barely ten minutes later, Sharah sensed the first of the ogres come within range of her spell. Her stomach dropped with every new light that appeared. Five…five Divines damned ogres. But she didn't tell the men that. Guilbert was shaking visibly, and Sharah doubted Rallus had ever even seen an ogre. But she had, a few times. And she knew what they were like: twice the size of a man, hulking behemoths with short tempers, and big appetites for flesh: animal or human. She'd fought one or two, but never five at once. The best they could hope for was for the ogres to tire of trying to get in. It might take all day. And the door might not hold that long. But she wasn't going to say that out loud.

There was grunting outside as the ogres first found the entrance to their abode blocked up. At the first blow, the door shuddered and a whimper escaped Guilbert's lips. The sound preceded a second blow, harder than the first. The third hit was from two hands, and made the entire barricade clunk. The three people threw their weight back against the wood every time.

The blows rained down, coupled with grunts and roars. They heard the monsters circling the building while one of them beat on the door. But the walls were solid and they found no purchase. That brought them back to the entrance. Every time it seemed like the hits were becoming softer, a new pair of fists would take up the task. It was no longer her secret that there was more than one beast beating on the door. Sharah watched the structure with every hit. Rust was flying off the hinges in flakes even as she heard the door begin to crack. The question was not if it would break, but when.

The wood gave first. Shards exploded out of the door in front of a gray fist that was the size of her head. Sharah didn't hesitate. Before the thing could start pawing around, she drew her dagger and drove into the massive forearm. The beast screamed and swung the arm around, catching her in the chest. But the lack of leverage afforded her a light blow and Sharah yanked her dagger across the forearm, leaving a bloody gash behind before the arm was yanked out of sight with another roar of pain.

"The door's not gonna hold," she said, shoving her weight back against the barricade, avoiding the jagged hole in the woodwork.

Guilbert stuttered, "It has to. We…we can't die like this."

Sharah felt another blow and slammed the wood back into place, Umbra's hilt digging into her neck. An idea flashed into her mind and she immediately groaned. Using Umbra wouldn't be enough now. Even for it, five ogres was pushing the limit. Unless she went further than before…Damn. She might not come back. Umbra thrummed in her mind, noting the same thing she was: that there was little other choice. It was their only option. They couldn't run now, ogres were fast over short distances. They'd never get away. It was either Umbra or die here when the door finally broke.

"Listen. I'm going to go out there and distract them. As soon as they stop hammering on the door, go for the roof and get Dar-Ma out of here. Drop down on the other side and run to Chorrol. And don't you dare come back for me."

Rallus grunted against another blow, "Are you mad?"

Sharah grinned, "A little. Probably."

"You can't go out there," he insisted, "You'll be killed!"

"Again, probably. But it will give you enough time to get away. If we stay here, we're all dead."

Sharah shoved off and ran for the stairs before they could say anything more. They would have followed, but another blow forced the two of them to hold their positions. They were chained to the barricade, lest the whole thing come crashing in. It meant they couldn't stop her.

Coming around to the second floor a small ball of scales flew out of the corner and wrapped its arms around her waist, a place the girl clearly found strength and comfort, "No. Don't go. Please, don't leave!"

Sharah knelt down on Dar-Ma's level and held her away by her shoulders, "Listen to me, Dar-Ma. I have to do this. It will give you a chance to go home." She gently walked the girl back a few steps and pressed her back to the wall. "Stay here until Rallus and Guilbert come. I'll be fine," she lied with a gentle smile. She'd be anything but fine. Even if she lived…it wouldn't be as herself. Damn.

Sharah went up to the attic and looked out through the hole in the roof. The ogres were milling around sniffing towards the door and grunting at each other. All except the one at the entrance. It reached through the hole, howled and drew back a battered hand. Guilbert's warhammer no doubt. But they didn't have much time left.

She pulled back out of sight, dropped her pack on the ground and drew Umbra from the scabbard on her back. "Alright, Umbra. No restraints this time. You want me…I'm right here," she whispered, opening her mind to the soul within the blade. The soul's initial touch was tentative, expecting the usual strength of resistance from the woman's mind. When it found none, the touch turned into a hound's death grip.

At once, the soul's hunger invaded the whole of her thoughts. Looking down upon her adversaries, they were no longer monsters but sustenance. Sustenance for the hunger; the agonizing hunger that clawed at her mind and boiled in the pit of her stomach. Sharah leapt from the opening in the roof, weapon clenched in both hands, and drove it straight down into the neck of the beast raining blows upon the door. The force of the strike was so great that the sword was entirely sheathed in the ogre's body, severing the spin and driving down into the throat. With a groan, the ogre crumpled to the ground where he stood. As Umbra was drawn from the body, it glowed with a sickly purple light and Sharah felt the hunger waver as it devoured the soul. But Umbra was not long appeased and the hunger returned in force as it sensed several more ready meals close-by.

Sharah didn't resist in the least. She couldn't afford to. She had not the skill to win this battle. And with Umbra's appetite came knowledge of every battle fought and every soul absorbed. With the blade in control, Sharah had the direct skill of every hand that had wielded or fallen to this weapon, their memories echoing with the hunger. They filled her to brimming until her own mind began to lose itself in the tide. But still she did not resist. Resisting would leave her battling with only her own skill…and it was not enough. So the blade drove her forward, hungry and seeking, manipulating her body with its cumulative knowledge in exchange for the souls of those who fell to its edge.

The ogres were no strategists. They only saw the threat and wished it destroyed, and so rushed her all at once. Umbra moved her between their hands, scoring one of their flanks as she did so. Once behind she struck out again, severing two monstrous hamstrings with a single swipe and sending the beast in question roaring to its knees. Sharah only knew her fiery elven dagger was in her hand when she leapt upon the ogre's back and drove the dagger into the eye of its fellow beyond. Another hilt deep thrust into that one's chest and Umbra feasted again.

Sharah was losing herself, bit by bit. She could feel it. But, again, she couldn't afford to lose the sword's experience in this battle. Under Umbra's control she was steadier, more agile, even stronger. She couldn't even afford to pray that her companions were now leaping to the ground behind the house and flying from the place. Any distracting thought might cost her an instant. She could only hold the weapon and do exactly as told.

One of the ogres closed a hand around her leg. Sharah shoved Umbra's point through the bones of its arm and twisted. There was a crack, the ogre roared and let go, and Sharah pulled the blade free. Then she dove under the arms and drew Umbra's edge across its belly. The ogre was left clutching the slit, trying to hold in the innards that spilled forth. It was not mercy that caused her to strike the head from its body, but the hunger that was now all she knew. The fifth beast came at her, hands out-stretched and swiping in rage. Sharah dodged backwards, avoiding the attacks and looking for an opening.

Were she able to pay attention, Sharah would have noticed Umbra's influence soaking into her mind through the fight. Her worries and cares vanished with her life's pleasures and joys. Even in her memories, the people she had known were becoming faceless and nameless, fading into blank souls that might soon feed the blade. If she met them, she would not know them. She would only know the blade and its hunger. Umbra's soul crept through her mind, seeping from the edges toward the core of her being.

Beyond that place, she continued to dodge her enemy's attacks, using maneuvers she never could have managed on her own for so long. Sharah attacked as she retreated, slicing the ogre's arms over and over even if she could not yet strike a killing blow. It was soon dripping with blood, infuriated by each stinging wound as well as its inability to lay hands on the cause. The tree line approached. Sharah avoided another swipe and leapt for a branch and swung herself around the tree. The ogre's next attack smashed through the branch, but it gave Sharah enough time to get around the tree and leap onto its back. She drove the dagger in first and felt it catch on a rib. She held on as the ogre reached backwards for her, but she dangled out of reach driving Umbra time after time into the monster's back, wherever she could reach. The ogre howled as it staggered about, finally trying to smash her against the tree. But she dropped off just in time and rolled between its legs. Sharah drove Umbra upward as she came to her feet and as the ogre slumped forward from impact with the trunk. The point pierced its chin and there was a resounding crack as it leapt up out of the top of the skull. The beast fell an instant later, and Umbra glowed once more as it was drawn from the broken skull.

Sharah pulled her dagger free from the body and strode back toward the front of the cabin where the last living enemy was crawling away with dark blood coursing from its ankles. Umbra's point buried in the calf of the beast and it collapsed to the ground, letting out a cry of pain. It rolled over, looking up in fear at the monster with the black blade. But it did not fear for long before Umbra took its life like the others.

The battle was over, the ogres lay dead. But Umbra still hungered. It would always hunger. And the blade sensed souls nearby…inside the house. Her companions had yet to flee. Deep within the mind, at the core of herself, what remained of Sharah railed against the blade's intent. But there was so little of her left. Like someone pressed to the edge of a cliff, she had no leverage with which to fight and win. Umbra moved to quell the last of Sharah's soul into submission. This bearer had resisted for long enough. She would not cause the blade any more trouble. Sharah felt the tendrils stretch into the core of her essence. It wouldn't be long now before she would not even know who she had been. But she would fight to the end. Even with no hope of winning, Sharah would fight.

Umbra's tendrils delved inward to take the last…they touched something at her center…and recoiled like a worm in a hot pan! Awakened by the offender's attempt to master, something rushed forth from that deep place. It welled up and filled her with the strength to take back her mind, and bearing Sharah's little soul outward like a leaf on the crest of a terrible wave.

Umbra was already in retreat. The dominating soul with the insatiable hunger had touched this thing at the core of her essence but once and now fled from her mind like a hare before a pack of hungry dogs. Umbra fled into the safety of its vessel and cringed from the strength Sharah now found herself immersed in.

Sharah hardly noticed. All she knew was the power. Of her…but not her's. It reminded her a little of the shroud of dark and calm that came upon her once in a while. But the magnitude of this was beyond comparison. It was so vast and intense, power enough to wink her from existence with a thought. It would have terrified her if she were not so utterly blissful at its presence. And then it was gone, bled away into her center until she could no longer feel it, taking the memory of its presence with it so she did not even know what had happened. Sharah stood, dumb, numb and silent, trying to grasp what had occurred and being utterly unable to do so. She had used Umbra to its fullest extent and come back to herself. But how?

The motion of wiping her blades clean of blood made her feel more human. And she was able to remember why she'd come out here in the first place. Sharah forced herself to take steps toward the door of the farmhouse, each one bringing the sensations of being alive: the ground beneath her feet, the sound of the forest and trees. By the time she reached the door, she could think for herself. Sharah looked up to see two pairs of wide eyes on her through the hole in the door. It took a moment to get her throat to work, "Would you get the bolt, please?"

She didn't know who fumbled with lock. But she did manage to drag the corpse of the ogre away from the door, the mental effort more difficult than the physical, before gripping the handle and pulling the door open. Over what remained of the barricade Sharah got a better look at their faces. Guilbert had an expression of awe, or something like it. But Rallus…she recognized the look in his eyes. Fear. She looked for it often enough in her opponents and she saw it in him now.

Sharah stepped over shattered pieces of wood, past the men and up the stairs. When she came around the corner Dar-Ma bolted from against the wall and threw her arms around her waist, a now well-practiced motion. Sharah started, "Oh, Dar-Ma, I've got blood all over."

"Don't go again! Please, don't leave me again!"

Another step back toward her humanity, the warrior closed her arms around the girl despite the streaks of deep red it left on her dress, "It's alright. I won't. Everything's fine now."

"The monsters are gone?" Dar-Ma asked, looking up meekly.

Sharah nodded, "Yes, the monsters are all gone." Although from Rallus's expression, one remained among them. She carried the Argonian downstairs, forcing her mind through its paces, "Let's clear away some of this stuff and get a fire going. This is the safest place we'll find to rest. Guilbert, Rallus, if you would move some of the bodies away before they start to smell. I'll start on things in here. I'd help outside but," she looked down at the girl in her arms who was still clinging, "I think I need to stay with her."

They did as she asked while Sharah and Dar-Ma cleared a place on the bottom floor for their sleep pallets. The garbage was mostly bones, windows were opened to the best of their ability, and Sharah had a fire going by the time the men returned. As they cleared the nests away Sharah came across some of the ogres' hoard, including an ebony longsword with the symbol of Chorrol expertly engraved on the blade. It seemed special, so Sharah resolved to take it back with them.

While they were preparing a meal, Sharah did not miss the sideways glances Rallus and Guilbert were tossing in her direction all the way until they found their pallets. Rallus made a point to keep his distance, taking the first watch even though there was no thing alive that would approach the place that housed the one who had killed five ogres, the bodies of which still lay outside. She didn't argue the point. It was good that Dar-Ma hadn't seen the spectacle as she seemed to need female companionship, and being terrified of Sharah would have done her no good. The girl went so far as to curl up right against the woman when they lay down. She didn't mind, holding the girl close and humming to her until they both fell asleep.

XXX

_She was dying, she could feel it. Drowning in the inky black water that was closing in around her face as Sharah thrashed desperately for the surface. Her hands flailed in the open air, grasping for life as she just kept slipped under. She couldn't get a breath, couldn't cry out for help. And what made it all worse was that the water felt like it was trying to kill her._

_Hands plunged down after her and plucked her from the pool. Sharah came out coughing and sputtering. She was held close, the strong hands working her back until she'd expunged every drop of that bad black water from her lungs. Then she just cried, unashamedly, from the terror of her near death experience, all the while clinging to her father's robes. _

_He needed no words to comfort her. Not that he ever spoke. And not that that meant his wishes were ever anything but clear. Sharah wept for a while until his strength calmed her down. Then she just clung to him, hiccupping occasionally following her sobbing fit. She just clung to his strength. As long as her father was here, she was safe._

XXX

Vaermina must have taken the night off, as Sharah woke feeling more rested than the circumstances should have allowed. She didn't even remember her dreams, if she'd even had any. As the company made their way back to Chorrol the following day, Guilbert and Rallus were still giving her looks. So they'd finally seen what she was capable of. It changed things between them. For Guilbert it seemed an incredible new level to her. But for Rallus it was nothing short of frightening to know what Sharah was capable of beyond the slaying of goblins. Something of which their public encounters had failed to inform him.

He thought he knew her. He thought he knew what she could do. He was wrong. He'd seen her fight once, four years ago. On her second day in Cyrodiil, Sharah had volunteered to assist the Odiils in defending their farm from a horde of goblins. Even then, family matters were her weakness. It had been her first true battle. Any practice and training she'd gotten in her life flew from her mind with the goblin screams in her ears. She'd swung her father's blade in desperation, caught up in the heat of the battle like a novice.

That's what Rallus had seen. That's what he thought she was. Even four years later, when she was present often enough for him to decide to pursue her affections, that is what he thought she was. But she'd changed a great deal in those four years. She'd fought that first battle as a girl, frightened and frantic. That girl was long gone now, and drawing further off with every passing day. Rallus had failed to account for that. How could he when this was his first opportunity to witness?

Chorrol was a relief to see. Although, they were barely on the path toward the gate when Rallus mumbled something and made east for his farmhouse down the Black Road. Sharah looked sadly after him. He'd been seeking her attentions for a while. All that time wasted now that he realized she was no village damsel to be won and wed. Sharah didn't know exactly how she felt about it. But she felt no need to try and explain or reassure him, and no need at all to call after his retreating form.

Seed-Neeus was ecstatic to have her daughter returned. Sharah left them to their heartfelt reunion, not actually wanting to be caught up in the waves of thanks and praise that were sure to come after. The next step was to see about this sword. Sharah was more than ready to drop it off somewhere. She was used to three blades on her person, but another longsword…and of ebony? The extra weight was really starting to make itself a bother.

Guilbert caught her arm outside, "Sharah, I…I know this didn't turn out exactly like I meant it to."

Sharah nodded. He couldn't be too unhappy though. They might not have spent the time bonding like he wanted, but Rallus would no longer be competing for her. Guilbert would learn that soon, if he hadn't realized it already.

Guilbert wrung his hands, "I'll talk to my brother about this. But…I want to reclaim Weatherleah. Properly. It's our family home. And now that the ogres are gone we can make it home again. But…that would mean leaving town." Sharah had expected this course of action since he first approached her about their adventure. But there was a point hanging in the air around his words. She waited patiently for him to make it. Guilbert fixed his eyes on her, "We can stay in town and not go to Weatherleah…if you want. You just have to say so."

Sharah's chest lurched. Gods, he still hoped for something more to grow between them. An eternal optimist, this man. And considering her battle prowess hadn't put him off…perhaps there could be something…someday. But not today. She did like him…but not to that extent. Not the way he seemed to hope. She never asked him to care about her. And now he put one of his life's great decisions in her hands.

Sharah kept her tone gentle, already having broken one heart today, "No. You should take your brother to Weatherleah. Before it becomes home to some other beast of the wild."

He nodded slowly. She saw the understanding in his eyes, even though it pained him for her to turn him away.

"You will be careful of Hackdirt though, won't you?" she asked.

"Of course," Guilbert replied, "Thank you. For everything. Our door will always be open to you."

They parted ways. She muffled the guilt of her second rejection with the weight of the ebony sword on her back. Someone in the castle might know what it meant. She found it an easier thing to focus on then the open offering that was walking in the other direction.

XXX

Her trip back to the guildhall was equally weighted as her walk to the castle…physically. Sharah got to her bed and swung an exquisite ebony shield beside her trunk: the Escutcheon of Chorrol. The sword she'd found in Weatherleah turned out to be the Honorblade of Chorrol that had been stolen some time ago from Castle Chorrol. Sharah didn't try to fathom how it had ended up shoved in an ogre nest, since an ogre sneaking through the castle seemed utterly ridiculous. The countess was overcome and gifted Sharah, in open court, with the heavy shield bearing Chorrol's insignia and declaring her a hero of the county. Sharah accepted politely but for all the honor involved, the heavy shield was just going to go about gathering dust.

And, just because it was habit, Sharah went to report to Oreyn on what had actually happened: Hackdirt, Weatherleah and everything. He turned out to be less than please.

"I approve a pleasure stroll and you go about turning it into a quest of life or death. I told you not to be reckless," he berated her.

Sharah growled at him, in no mood to act the part of subordinate today, "If you'll recall, _sir_, you approved the discovery of Weatherleah, which was crawling with ogres. I opted to save Dar-Ma from a bunch of insane cultists. Which is, I'll point out, the less dangerous option. It was sheer bad luck I ran into both."

Oreyn relented to her argument, rubbing his forehead, "I don't know if you have the best luck or the worst. But I swear, girl, you're going to grey me before my time." He looked down at her less intensely, "Chorrol's Honorblade, huh?"

"Mm-hm," she replied.

He growled under his breath again, "Alright. Get some rest. Work as usual tomorrow."

Sharah shook her head, laughing gently, " 'Get some rest'? That seems to be your instruction every time I show back up here."

He scowled at her, "Well, then, get up to the office. Paperwork needs doing!"

Sharah hid a grin as she took the stairs two at a time.

**Well, that's one throw away romance out the door. These two guys were my first crushes in the game...you know, before i met Lucien or Martin. So I had to give them some love in my tale. We'll get back to Guilbert later.**

**Next update might not be for a while. Real life and all that. But stay tuned. I'll find the time to get another chapter out to you folks.**


	15. Blood Spilled and Broken Bonds

**Another chapter so soon. It's almost like I like writing this stuff. **

**My dearest Aletheya: You commented on despising Hackdirt...I hope this chapter is sufficient to sate your dislike. And good instincts on the dream sequences. They're not subtle (except for those who haven't played), but I just can't do anything but put them in.**

**Now...let's see this story unfold. (Oh, quick note, I added a promotion from Protector to Defender in Ch 13. It's just a small thing I forgot to stick in)**

After a few days, things seemed to have gotten back to normal. At least for the most part, anyway. She no longer needed to worry about suitors, which Sharah took to be a positive outcome from her latest adventure. At least once a day, little Dar-Ma would sprint up to the Wolf and latch her arms around the woman's waist, chattering endlessly to her brave rescuer. Sharah returned the gesture and regularly reminded the girl that she had not done it alone.

That didn't stop the girl though. And often times the embrace was accompanied by a present: a string of flowers for around her neck, a picture Dar-Ma had drawn, or even a trinket from Seed-Neeus. Sharah finally went to the trade store and told the woman that the constant expressions of thanks were unnecessary and made her a bit uncomfortable. The woman couldn't help her joy over her daughter's return and insisted that if Sharah would accept no more gifts, Seed-Neeus would always give her the best deals on anything she had to offer. Sharah had to be content with that.

New rumors abound. There was the return of the Honorblade, which had most citizens pleased. Dar-Ma was a center for attention for a while, telling the tale of her adventure over and over to anyone who would hear it. This, in turn, spiked new rumors regarding Hackdirt, of which everyone was now talking but physically avoiding like the plague, more than they had previously. There was talk of calling in the Legion again and even of the town guard marching on the town themselves. Sharah doubted either would do any good. The villagers and their Brethren would just vanish into the forest and come back when the troops had tired of pursuit. Then they'd be back at it, trapping and sacrificing whatever poor soul happened upon the place unawares. Troops were no help on things like this.

The most significant change, in Sharah's mind, was in regards to her possessed blade. Normally, just having Umbra on her person was a constant battle of the mind. Any sense of emotional or psychological weakness and Umbra's tendrils would go to work, picking for a foothold until Sharah's will forced the soul down. Triply so when the blade was unsheathed and an opponent near.

But now…the damned soul sucker had to be fought out of the blade rather than back in. Sharah spent half her training period coaxing the thing into her head. She needed Umbra's consumed knowledge on each maneuver until Sharah could train her body to complete the movements on its own. But now, the slightest displeasure from Sharah would send Umbra scuttling back into its vessel. If the previous mental sparring had been tedious, this was infuriating. Had Sharah not had the blade in her hands the whole time, she would have sworn it was not the same one she picked up in Vindasel.

There were things that didn't change. Oreyn's painful training sessions for one. Though, Sharah was proud to say she could at least hold her own against the Dunmer. But that was probably because he hadn't been in the field for a while, not because she was on his level. Viranus's less painful training sessions were another constant. Sharah was proud also to say that Viranus brightened when she didn't pull her strikes, and he was learning to think outside sequences. She did try and make a point to find somewhere else to be when Eduard Hodge showed up. And Sharah was still avoiding Cargas and Lashana, who still had yet to apologize. Sharah knew she was probably being too stubborn about it. But they had to know that leading her on was not ok. So, stubborn or not, Sharah held her piece, absolutely set on them coming to her first.

And then there was the paperwork. Still every day, but still only about an hour a day, thank the Nine. When she got back from Hackdirt, Oreyn took to doing his contract work right there with her, talking out loud about them as he did: where and to whom he was sending them and why. Sharah had her own work to do, so she only really half listened, but still picked up things along the way. It did occur to her that with all the guild administrative stuff she was learning, plus her training, and that mental work with Umbra…perhaps she was working her mind too hard. She didn't suffer headaches any more than anyone else. But you didn't necessarily know something was wrong until the day it came to a head. This proved all too true…just not where she'd been thinking.

They were in the middle of another office session. Sharah hoped to get some archery practice out back when she was done. Sharah was so immersed in her work, however, that it took a full minute for her to realize Oreyn had stopped talking.

She looked up from her logbook to find his intense red eyes fixed on her. She froze. Was she doing something? Not doing something?

"Sir?"

Oreyn wordlessly offered her the papers in his hand. She took them and scanned the contents. A contract report from Bravil: someone requesting portions of fresh imp gall. There was a note on the contract's progress. Namely, that there hadn't been any since its acceptance. And the assigned member: Maglir. Sharah sat back and sighed in sad exasperation.

"I thought you took care of this?" Oreyn said. His tone wasn't accusatory and his expression was devoid of emotion.

"I thought I did, too," Sharah said quietly. She looked up at him, "Do you mind if I take this?"

Oreyn nodded, "I figured you might. I'll finish the rest of this if you want to leave now." Sharah bobbed her head in appreciation before heading for the stairs. "And Wolf." She glanced back. "Firm hand this time." Another affirmative motion and she was gone.

Maglir. Again. And over imp gall? It was a new boot level assignment. The little bastards tended to flock, and with their claws and teeth and their throwing fire and lightening around they proved exceptionally annoying. But the imps kept to their caves, the spells weren't that strong, and they weren't that difficult to deal with. Any guildmember worth a tablespoon of salt should have been able to handle this. So what on Mundus was Maglir doing?

Sharah's brow was furrowed with thought all the way to the saddle of her horse. Maybe she'd been too gentle with him. Maybe he just figured he could get away with dropping contracts after she covered for him. Or maybe something had happened with his family and he just didn't have time to tell the guild before leaving to help them. She feared the last might be truly wishful thinking. Regardless, she wouldn't know 'till she got down there. Until then, all Sharah could do was speculate, hope for the best, and prepare for the worst.

This sort of thought process usually instigated some prodding from Umbra. But the soul remained securely huddled within its vessel. Alright, Sharah was sufficiently tired of dealing with this soul-sucker turned timid. It wasn't that she liked the daily mental bouts for control of her soul, in addition to the flair ups every time the sword was drawn. But she was used to the way their relationship worked. Now, to have Umbra terrified to mingle with her thoughts…it was just strange. Not to mention it screamed 'trap'.

But also, it was not having full use of her tool. Sharah had trained herself to use everything at her disposal to her advantage: distance, stealth, cunning, trickery. If it meant she won out it the end, she put it to use. A method resulting from her brief time in the Arena and one too many bandit ambushes. Not that she had no sense of honor. It just took second place to success and survival. And a possessed sword with the experience of a thousand battles was an advantage she could not afford to leave idle just because the soul had turned into a pansy for no reason.

Sharah touched Umbra's hilt gently as she rode, hoping the gesture might provide some reassurance, "Come on, Umbra. I only bite when you do." But the soul remained stubbornly huddled with no sign of easing its defense.

Sharah grumbled under her breath. There had to be a way to regain some kind of working relationship with the thing. Forcing it had already proven tedious. And threatening and intimidating would certainly leave the soul right where it was.

Sharah brightened at another option. She had been planning on dealing with it sooner or later. And this way, it would prove a double benefit. And she could spare a day or so from her journey if it got Umbra back on her side. So Sharah abruptly turned her horse off the road and headed south into the forest.

XXX

Jiv returned to his broken down hovel in the late afternoon. The daily work was haggarding, and the town was still just scraping by. Things had only gotten worse since that woman and her friends had gotten Dar-Ma out of Hackdirt safely. Jiv's relief over the rescue was quickly eclipsed by his fear. If anyone found out he had helped the strangers, they'd kill him. And even if no one learned what he'd done…Etira was growing desperate. Without the little Argonian girl, she needed to find another sacrifice to the Deep Ones if she was to retain control of the residents. Even if no one learned what he'd done…Jiv still had reason to fear for his life. Etira might stoop to sacrificing one of the townsfolk to their cause. And Jiv was far from the most devoted of the Deep Ones' followers.

He stepped into his hovel, intent on getting some sleep before the town's midnight meeting. When a flash of light lit across his face from the corner of his home, Jiv nearly leapt out of his boots. Sitting in a dark corner, staring at the fire and turning a bright dagger in her hands, was the woman who'd rescued Dar-Ma. Jiv didn't relax, however. In this light and in that pose, both relaxed and intense, she frightened him.

"Hello, Jiv. How have you been?" Even her tone sent a shiver up his spine.

"I-I've been alright. What are you d-doing here?" Jiv asked, hoping she wouldn't look at him.

The dagger continued to turn. "Unfinished business."

Oh, gods! "Wha-What kind?"

She stood and turned her eye on him, "Tomorrow, Hackdirt will see its last sunrise." There was murder in that look, and her words only confirmed it.

Jiv felt his knees lock up, leaving him unable to flee. But he managed to stutter out, "Wh-wh-why are you t-telling me?"

The woman's expression softened a little, although it still scared him, "You helped me save Dar-Ma. The others were ready to kill her. But not you. I owe you a chance to save yourself."

"Save myself?"

She nodded, and took a few steps toward him, "You have until sunset tomorrow to leave town. Pack your things and get out. Find somewhere else to live. I would recommend you head to Cropsford. A new settlement south of the Yellow Road, just before the Cerbele river. And a nice place to make a fresh start. I'm sure they'd be glad to have you." Jiv couldn't help but hold his breath as she drew even with him and then reached past for the door handle. "Oh, and Jiv. Don't tell any of the others what I've told you. This warning is for you alone. If I see anyone fleeing town…I might just have to go hunting. And then I can't guarantee your safety."

The woman slipped out the door without a sound. When the latch clicked, Jiv's knees gave out and he fell hard against the wall. He feared the Deep Ones. He feared the Brethren and Etira and the others. But this woman trumped them all. Sheer desperation forced Jiv to clamber around his house snatching up whatever he could carry. He wasn't going to wait until tomorrow night. He was leaving the instant he could manage it. Cropsford. If she said Cropsford, he'd go to Cropsford. Forget the Deep Ones. Jiv would forget all of it for the rest of his life. Especially those cold murderous eyes.

XXX

Sharah smiled when she saw Jiv fleeing his house just after sunset. He couldn't seem to get out of Hackdirt fast enough. Good. She really didn't want to putz around the wilderness waiting. She was anxious to finish with Hackdirt for good so she could head for Bravil…and anxious to spill blood. Damn, she was excited. Excited to give these cultists back a little of their own. She shouldn't be. What she was going to do was a little cold blooded. Oh, some of them would fight. The Brethren and a few of the more aggressive townsfolk. But some would never touch a weapon. They'd just flee. And Sharah found she didn't care if they did or not. She was still going to kill every last one of them. And since Jiv had elected to leave early, that meant she could do it tonight instead of waiting a day.

Sharah pulled the black crystalline blade from its sheath, "Alright, Umbra. There's a whole town of people just waiting for a blade in the back. And I'm happy to let you feast to your heart's content on their souls when they die. But, you know you'll have to come out of there to do it." The soul of Umbra remained hunkered but Sharah felt a little ripple on the surface of her mind. Like ears being perked. The woman smiled, cast a spell, and set forward for the first life-light that glowed in her now enchanted vision.

XXX

Etira stood at the altar in the Chapel of the Deep Ones, awaiting the gathering of the followers. She had to declare something. From the Deep Ones, the demand was the same: the blood and soul of one unwilling. But the followers were restless. After that Argonian had escaped with the others, Natch and Marlena began openly questioning her leadership. Marlena pushed for immediate action against the outsider. Natch wanted the entire town to move underground for the sake of the Deep Ones. All of them were getting agitated with waiting.

Etira would have to do something to solidify her position. It was _her_ grandfather who had first founded the town, it was _he_ who found the Deep Ones and wrote the script they all followed. And it was _she_ who had learned them again and spoke with the Deep Ones. Of course it was she who would lead. All the others just had to learn that. And for that matter, where were they?

The chapel doors opened and closed. Etira smiled and remained facing away from the door and standing tall, trying to look every inch the fearless leader of their community. After allowing them a moment to see her and find their places, she turned to face them. But there was only one figure in the room and she was a stranger.

Etira scowled at the newcomer, "What are you doing here? You are not welcome in this place."

The stranger didn't flinch in the least, "I could say the same to you. You've really made a nuisance of yourself. And I'll not have it anymore." She strode forward slowly, "They're not coming, by the way. Your little flock. They won't be making it to your gathering." She held a black sword casually in her hand that glowed faintly purple and hovered bare inches above the ground as the woman walked, "And don't bother yelling. You're Brethren aren't coming either."

Etira searched the stranger's face, "Wait. I know you. You came to our town with the other two. You took that Argonian!"

The stranger smiled grimly, "That I am and yes I did. And now I'm here for you."

Etira backed behind the altar and snatched up the precious bible of the Deep Ones, "You outsiders have always tried to destroy us. But we've always survived!"

The stranger's smile widened, "You're the only one left. And you're not surviving anything."

Etira's mind turned to panic as the stranger came toward the altar.

"Don't run," the stranger drawled, "You won't get far. And I've other places to be."

The woman desperately ripped through the pages of her bible, grasping for anything to drive out the intruder. She stumbled into a verse in the old language that called on the Deep Ones. But the stranger's approach and the way she held that sword frightened Etira so much that the words just slipped from her mind and she fell to common, "Deep Ones! Hear me!" The point of the sword lifted higher. "Deliver me! Strike her down!" The merciless eyes drove her pleas to desperate shrieks. "Save me! PLEASE!" The black blade flashed, cutting off the words along with a good portion of her neck.

Sharah stood over her victim, Umbra glowing a pale purple in her hand as it ate its fill. "There now. Are we satisfied?" Umbra practically purred in her mind. "Good. Now that that's done, perhaps you should sleep again. There are no more souls to take, and you'll just find the rest of this boring anyway." Umbra hummed again and subsided.

The houses yielded little of value, but she searched them anyway. Every trap door she found, Sharah cast her hottest fire spell on their hinges and bolts, effectively welding them all shut. There'd be a lot of effort involved in getting back down to the mine. In the Moslins' trade store she found some carefully preserved books. It took barely a moment to figure out what they were, and even less time to decide what to do with them. Once she'd taken what she wanted, Sharah dragged all the bodies of the townsfolk into their houses, then went to spreading oil on anything that would burn.

And all the while, she thought she heard some soft whispers in her mind's ear. Sharah could guess what they'd say if she stopped to listen. But she already had a soul in her mind at full volume. The Deep Ones, whatever they were, could go stick it. A few flares later, Sharah set the town to burn. Only the chapel and the foundations would remain to mark this place. And even they were on their way to decomposing into nothing. And as much as she'd like to leave no stone atop another, Sharah was needed in Bravil.

She mounted the bay she'd left outside the town limits and turned her back to the blaze. The fire continued to consume Hackdirt long after her sight of it was obscured, doubtless drowning out the anguished cries of the Deep Ones now left buried and alone. Sharah was pleased with her accomplishment and never looked back. She'd sleep well tonight.

XXX

_Mother was pleased. That was always wonderful. It meant Sharah had done something right. Her mother beamed down at the girl and Sharah reached out to her, begging to be rewarded with her long awaited embrace. _

_But Mother shook her head again, "Not yet, dear. Not yet." Sharah's lip began to tremble and her mother continued to smile her reassurance, "I know, dear. And I am very proud of you. But things aren't ready yet. Soon though, I promise. Have patience, my dearest daughter. It will not be much longer."_

XXX

Four days to Bravil, and three nights of restful sleep. Sharah felt energized after her dealing with Hackdirt. And more than ready to deal with Maglir. Nahsi, the Khajiit guildhead in Bravil, directed Sharah to the Lonely Suitors Lodge. Sharah didn't grumble, but it didn't help his case that he'd picked the worst den in town to drink himself under the table in. Before she even crossed the bridge to the south district Sharah knew what she was going to do. She'd start gentle; try to convince him like last time. But unlike last time, if he didn't accept she was going to drag him, drunk or otherwise, all the way through his contract. It might kick him back into gear, or it might drive him from the guild completely. But either way, it would tell him that she meant business. But Sharah really hoped it would end up being the former of the two options. The guild really needed every member to do their part right now.

Sharah saw Maglir's head at a booth in the back the moment she walked in. Sharah worked her way through the Lodge toward the back. She had business in her posture but kept her expression soft, not wanting to spook the man before he'd had a chance to explain.

She hailed him as she approached the table, "Hail, Maglir. I need to talk to…" Sharah's voice trailed off when she saw that Maglir was not sitting alone. Across from him, there was a tough looking Argonian with leathery burgundy scales and blue streaks like war marks across his cheeks…in Blackwood armor. And when Sharah looked back at Maglir her stomach plummeted. He was wearing the armor too. Sharah looked him full in the face, "Maglir. What's going on here?"

The Bosmer lifted his tankard, smugness written all over his face, "What does it look like? We're celebrating my recruitment to Blackwood Company. Finally, plenty of work. Good pay for once. More than the Fighters Guild can offer. But I can guess you're not here to congratulate me, eh, lap dog?"

The Argonian across from him was grinning, but saying nothing.

Sharah ignored that one and kept her eyes on Maglir, "You defaulted on another contract, Maglir. Of course I came down here—"

Maglir cut her off, "Defaulted, defaulted! That all you ever talk about? Didn't you hear me? I'm Blackwood now. That means neither you nor Oreyn can give me orders."

"You had a contract."

"Had, guildrat. And it was lousy pay anyway."

"It was imp gall."

"And now I'm Blackwood. So get off my back. Before my friend and I get angry," Maglir snapped, slamming his mug down like a child's tantrum.

The Argonian hadn't moved an inch. He seemed to be enjoying Maglir telling off his former guildmate.

Sharah stood there, rather dumb. She didn't know if she wanted to clock him, yell at him, beg him to rethink or just walk away. "Maglir…We're guildmates. I thought we had each other's backs."

He snorted at her, "When has the guild ever had my back?"

"I had your back!" she blurted.

Maglir looked away, clearly unable to muster a viable retort, "Yeah, well. Since you're here, you can take this back. I was just gonna throw it out. But it probably means something or other to you." He fumbled in his pocket and threw a patch of leather in her direction. Sharah caught it in midair and opened her hand to stare down at his associate guild patch.

She would have stood there for a decade, trying to wrap her mind around what he'd done. Sharah didn't know what part of her managed to walk her out of there, even avoiding Luciana's usual attempts. It walked her all the way to the Mages Guild. Contract…right, there was a contract.

Sharah was barely inside for five minutes when an Altmer mage strode up to her, "It's about time the Fighters Guild showed up. I have research to do. And you can't expect me to wait around when I've paid the guild for a job."

Sharah was still a little dazed, "I am sorry, magister. There were some…complications. I apologize for the wait, and I'll do all I can to see your needs are met."

The Altmer, Aryarie if she remembered right, eyed the warrior before her, "I've seen you before. You're the one who helped Kud-Ei and Henantier. Aren't you in the guild?"

Sharah nodded, "Yes, magister. An associate. But I am here on behalf of the Fighters Guild, and you have waited long enough."

Magister Aryarie regarded her, "Well. At least there's a proper mage seeing to this. I need imp gall for my research. Ten portions. As fresh and pure as you can manage."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a cave near Bravil that housed a flock of imps. The gall was not difficult to gather. And Aryarie was pleased with the result. But the whole time, Sharah's mind was elsewhere.

Maglir had left the guild. No word, no warning, no 'fare thee well, and wish me luck'. In the middle of a contract, he just took off his guild patch, donned their damnable armor, and set about drinking to his health. And then just brushed her off when Sharah came for an explanation.

She shouldn't have been surprised. She really shouldn't have. Of course Blackwood was going to move up from Leyawiin and of course Bravil would be their first stop. And of course they would attract members in the guild who were not content with what they were getting in the way of gold and contracts. And if she was honest with herself, Sharah would admit that Maglir was very clearly among that number. It all made perfect sense. So then why was she so upset? At least, Sharah thought she was upset. She had every right to be upset but all she felt was this gray daze.

Sharah delivered the gall after dark. She didn't want to go back to the guildhall without being sure of herself. So Sharah found a pocket of shadow in an alley of the southern district of the city and set to wait for whatever was going to break through that mental haze. Better to do that here than in full view of the guild. Especially given Sharah didn't know what emotion was going to break the surface first.

The business of the Bravil underworld crawled past her: smugglers, addicts, drunks, prostitutes, thieves. And among them was a Khajiit woman with twitchy ears. S'Krivva was Bravil's leading Thieves Guild member, and one of the two doyens of the Gray Fox. His hands in the guild, so to speak. She could look you dead on and lie without the slightest tell…but her ears had a mind of their own, constantly perking and turning and angling for the sounds of the world around her. A good thing for a thief. And as a Khajiit she had no problem seeing through shadows. Which meant she was one of those who spotted Sharah. The woman hoped she'd just pass her by and leave her to her issues. But S'Krivva headed straight for her hiding spot when she saw the warrior.

"S'Krivva greets the hunter," she said, in the common Khajiit third person format.

Sharah tried to relax her hands, "Hello, S'Krivva. Something I can do for you?"

The thief's eyes flicked to Sharah's unsuccessful attempt to seem at ease, "This one would have your opinion of the Blackwoods."

Sharah asked, "Why would you ask me?"

S'Krivva replied, "You seemed to know the mark." Sharah's face must have reflected the question as to why, because the Khajiit then said, "The Lonely Suitor Lodge is not a place to keep secrets from the guild."

Sharah averted her eyes. Fair enough. She took a breath and worked her thoughts free of the daze, "I don't like them. And not just because they're rivals to the Fighters Guild. I don't like _them_. The way they all are. I don't know what it is but…They're bad news. I can feel it."

S'Krivva nodded, ears still twitching around toward either end of the alley Sharah had taken refuge in, "S'Krivva had this feeling as well. It is good to know she is not the only one."

The warrior flexed her hands like she was trying to work them back to functional, "I heard they take…all jobs. Is the guild using them?" Sharah was almost hesitant to hear the answer, not wanting to know just how much guild money was going into the Company's pockets.

The Khajiit said, "They are newly in Bravil. But I know they are utilized in Leyawiin."

Sharah cleared her throat, "S'Krivva, would you do me a favor?"

"Anything for the hunter." Sharah's reputation in the guild had been made after her dealing with Captain Lex.

"If you could, would you ask the guild not to use them. Nothing official or anything. Just…spread it around the streets. If there are any other options, I'd prefer the Company be left out as much as possible."

The thief nodded, "It will be done. This one would be glad to leave the Company out completely. But they are cheap and effective. Some will use them."

"I know." Even through the daze, Sharah ventured her next question, hoping it might get her mind off of Maglir, "S'Krivva, have you seen Gray…I mean, the Gray Fox lately?"

"The Gray Fox goes where he will. But, no. This one has not seen him in some time."

Sharah leaned against the wall. She actually hoped there would be some word about him. Maybe a way to track him down and talk to him. Their last conversation had been abrupt and their parting harsh. At the very least, she wanted to smooth out their relationship. Even if he didn't want her as his apprentice any more, their friendship didn't have to suffer too.

"Has he taken ano…an apprentice?" Damn, she nearly said 'another'. As far as Sharah knew, not even S'Krivva was aware that Sharah was the Fox's Shadow.

"There is one who follows him. A skilled thief clad in black. S'Krivva does not know who this one is, but he has not been seen since last the Fox was sighted."

Sharah sighed. No more information there either. Maybe Gray was out looking for another apprentice. Someone better than Sharah to help him. She sighed again. S'Krivva watched her fallen features, "This one does not like to see the hunters unhappy. It affects performance. If the hunter wishes, there are those in Bravil who pick clean the pockets of the warrior you once called brother. If this would ease your spirits."

Sharah shook her head. She didn't want to think about Maglir any more than Gray's new activities. "Thanks. I'd do it myself if it'd help but…no."

S'Krivva shrugged, "S'Krivva understands. Betrayal in one's clan is difficult."

That word had an effect on her. Out of the daze came this white hot point somewhere between her chest and her gut like a magelight cast in a pitch black cavern. That was it wasn't it? She'd been betrayed…and she hated it. Hated it with a ferocity of emotion she'd never felt before. He'd betrayed them. They'd been guildmates, brothers in arms, and Maglir had just dropped them to join up with the bastards that had already brought one guildhall to its knees. Sharah's hands curled into fists, shaking with the intensity of her fury.

In front of her, S'Krivva's expression and posture remained unchanged but her ears betrayed her notice of Sharah's mood. Her normally twitchy ears were at once forward, alert and completely still, the Khajiit's instincts identifying the threat and focusing upon it. Sharah cocked her eyebrows at them, "I really hope you don't play cards with those, S'Krivva. You'll lose your living."

The thief's expression remained neutral, "Are you well, hunter?"

Sharah didn't want to answer. Her hand closed deliberately around the hilt of Umbra. The cold metal grounded her while the anger raged. Maglir, her guildmate, had betrayed her. And the Fighters Guild, the closest thing she had to family in Cyrodiil. She hated it. Hated what he'd done. Hated that the Bosmer was just so smug that he'd do it, too. And for what? Money?!

Money…he had a family to support. The familiar roiling of guilt in the pit of her stomach now joined the point of fury. How could she hate him so much when all he'd just done what was best for his family? And she had her own level of blame. Maybe if she'd done more for him, or at least not babied him on that diary contract. If…if she'd made sure he'd had contracts or….something. She should have done something. She saw this coming, hadn't she? Sharah should have done something.

The guilt was quickly outgrowing the fury. She couldn't blame him…though gods knew she wanted to. This was as much her fault as his. She should have done something before it came to this.

S'Krivva was still standing there, ears focused intently on the woman. Sharah stood up, knuckles white around Umbra for the sake of the solid support, "Yeah, I'm fine. Or…I will be. Eventually." She forced both rage and guilt deep down before stepping toward the street. She touched the Khajiit's shoulder, "Spread the word about Blackwood. I'll see you around."

Sharah didn't let go of Umbra as she walked back to the guildhall. She wasn't staying here tonight. Too much emotional tension in her. Her guildmates may have guessed she was upset when she'd been dazed. But they'd know for sure now. And as a representative from headquarters she couldn't afford to show anything but strength right now. The guild had enough problems with internal weakness, without everyone knowing how unnerved she was about a member being recruited to Blackwood so quickly.

Her horse would hate it, but Sharah was leaving tonight. She needed the road to clear her mind, and the dark and quiet would serve to calm her. At least a little. Sharah was worried about leaving Bravil. The guildhall had several members who used to be mercenaries. Real gold-for-blood types. How long would it take Blackwood to win them over too?

The white hot point of fury flared again. Sharah would have to set it aside. There was nothing she could do from here. And Oreyn would want to know Blackwood was on the move. She really needed out of the city. One thing seemed clear enough though: she did not take betrayal well.

**We're gonna start really getting into the main Fighters Guild quest now. But if that makes you think you know what's coming next...don't get cocky. I warned you about tweeks to the story lines. **

**I felt like the Bravil section here was a little clumsy, and I know this chapter is more rife with 'telling' than 'showing' sections. Let me know how you think it turned out. I'll get another update to you guys as soon as I can.**


	16. The Currents Beneath the Calm

**Another chapter update. Yay! This was a quick update. There may be some grammatical errors. Please let me know what you think.**

**Oh, and I want to add another century or two to Oreyn's age, given the elfish lifespan. Should he be 250(ish), or 350(ish)?**

Oreyn started pacing following Sharah's report. He looked like some wild animal caged. Probably felt like it too: stuck in the guildhall and unable to beat the Blackwood Company back head on. She watched him pace, remaining at attention even though all she wanted to do was fall into the chair she normally occupied in front of the desk.

Oreyn took a few more laps, then froze and trained his eyes on her. She felt like he was scrutinizing her but remained still, then eased a little when he did. Oreyn seemed to have made a decision. "There are some things we need to talk about," he said, casting a glance behind her at the office railing, "But not here."

"Your office?" she offered.

Oreyn shook his head, "No. Come to my house, after dark. We'll talk there. You're dismissed."

Sharah nodded mutely and left the office. Gods, she felt awful. She'd been strung between rage and guilt the whole ride back from Bravil that she barely saw where her feet were taking her. Turned out it was to the basement. So Sharah dropped her pack and just put herself through the motions, though training felt hollow.

She hated it all. It would have been so much easier to lean on the anger, like she preferred to do. But that anger made her want to go back to Bravil land kill Maglir and his smug new Argonian buddy…or at the very least beat them senseless and leave them to crawl out of the healers' after a month.

But Sharah couldn't do that when he'd only done what was best for him and his family. And she hated herself for wanting to hurt him over it. That brought on the guilt: guilt for blaming Maglir for looking out for his kin. And guilt over how much of his leaving had been her fault. It was too much. And since Sharah had already had more than enough guilt to last her lifetime, she turned back to the anger for support.

And so it went. Guilt over being angry. Anger to relieve the guilt. It was a fine merry-go-around that left her mentally exhausted. And she had nothing else to focus on. No contracts or anything. There hadn't even been any paperwork in the office when she'd been up there. Gods, she felt useless.

Sharah struck Umbra against the dummy with force enough that would have dropped a true opponent to the ground. Sharah regarded the blade for a moment. She and Umbra hadn't had a mental bout in a few weeks. And riding back from Bravil would have been the perfect opportunity to make a power-play. And for that matter Umbra hadn't left her hip since Hackdirt. Now it was Chillrend on her back and Umbra at easy reach. Something Sharah would have sworn would never happen. Had they finally developed some kind of long-term working relationship?

Sharah spent the rest of the day like an undead, barely aware of anything except what was going on in her head. After dark, she left the guildhall and headed for the poor district. The torches seemed dimmer in this part of town at night, like they didn't want to admit there was anyone in Chorrol who didn't live well. A few Thieves Guild members lived here, and an exceptionally tough Fighters Guild official, who should have been much better off. Again, Sharah eyed his dwelling and wondered why he didn't live in the better districts. Closer to the guildhall for one. More suited to his position for another. Her scrutiny didn't last long, then she knocked on the front door.

Oreyn answered it promptly. He stepped aside after seeing her and bid her enter with a quick jerk of his head. Once she was inside, the Dunmer cast a quick glance up and down the street before closing the door.

"You want a drink?" he asked, "We're not on duty here."

"Uh…no. Just some water would be fine," she replied.

Oreyn nodded and filled a glass from a pitcher. Her refusal didn't keep him from pulling the cork from a bottle and pouring a goblet of wine for himself. While he was doing it, Sharah's eyes roved the house.

It was as unremarkable inside as outside, and really what she should have expected from Oreyn. One room, devoid of anything but the basic furnishings. A simple bed, some cabinets and drawers that probably only held the most essential of living components. The walls were rough, the floor all stone. There wasn't a rug or wall hanging in the place. She didn't even see any spare armor or weaponry. Just his iron cuirass and steel mace set neatly against the wall. From what she saw, his life seemed entirely based in function.

The only non-essential thing she saw was in a corner of the house: a blank canvas on a stand with a well-used easel next to it. The floor beneath it had spots of paint, indicating this was not the first canvas to hold the place. So he painted. It seemed the only remotely personal thing in his home.

Oreyn saw her looking, "I'm waiting to something to put on that. Some moment worth remembering. But all I can ever think of are those I want to forget."

There was a brief flash of pain on his face but it was gone in an instant. And before she could ask, he turned to her, all business. No, not quite. He didn't quite have his usual scowl. It was more like a hard frown. He was a little more relaxed here. But it seemed Oreyn didn't really ease up, even off duty.

"Thank you for coming. I don't like resorting to this. But given the subject, its best we not talk in the hall. You may as well sit down. We're going to be here a while." Sharah glanced around, and then took a seat at his table. The Dunmer remained standing, his red eyes almost iridescent in the dim candlelight.

Oreyn took a moment to arrange his thoughts, taking a healthy draught of wine while she sat waiting. "We need to talk out Blackwood," he began, "I've been looking into them. From what I've gathered, they used to be just another band of mercenaries. Small scale, until their leader, Ri'Zakar, took over. He got them the fat Imperial contracts. The last of which was a mission to Black Marsh to reclaim land from the Argonian tribesmen. But they failed. What coin they had left was spent setting up shop in Leyawiin. That's when they became down right ruthless. I've heard some things…nothing I can prove though."

Sharah sat quietly and listened. So that was what he'd been doing all this time: tracking down what he could about the Blackwoods. But she didn't ask why he couldn't have told her all this in the hall, or the tower. He was probably coming to that.

He took a few steps across his home, slower speed than in the office, but the same pacing. "I thought we'd have more time. Or be in a better way when they made their next move. We knew Blackwood was going to go for Bravil eventually."

She followed his progress with her eyes, "I know."

Oreyn continued, walking a bit faster, "We're going to lose more members. Bravil's got several mercenary types there. They'll go over as soon as Blackwood starts flashing their gold."

"I know," Sharah repeated, still watching him. She wasn't the only one who felt useless, it seemed. Another ten minutes and Oreyn might be climbing the walls.

"Ten years ago I wouldn't have been worried about them. Hell, three years ago I wouldn't have been worried about them. Just another mercenary group trying to make coin. Beat 'em back and shrug 'em off," he said like a mantra. "It's no coincidence this is happening now." Oreyn halted in his movements, glaring at the other end of the house. He took a few deep breaths before fighting out his next words. And when he did it was in a strangled voice, as though he were admitting something sacrilegious, "The guild is weakening, Wolf."

Sharah didn't move an inch. But her spirit sagged. She'd suspected as much. But hearing Oreyn admit it out loud…made it quite suddenly too real. "I know," she said softly.

Oreyn's eyes snapped to her so intensely she dropped hers to her hands. "When did you figure it out?"

Sharah fiddled with her thumbnail, "You're the one who had me doing paperwork. You put the whole guild at my fingertips in that office. How could I not notice?"

Oreyn grunted…in approval, "I figured it would take you longer. I guess I underestimated you."

This time she was the one who looked to him. He'd wanted her to see it? Why not just tell her? No, there was a more important question now. "I don't. Know everything, I mean. I saw the contracts and the membership falling…but I don't why. Why is it happening? The paperwork doesn't explain that part."

The guild second's expression softened a little, "No, it doesn't. And considering where your focus was at the time, I'm not surprised you don't know." He leaned against the wall, finally settling down, no longer driven by what to reveal or keep secret, "It's not Blackwood. They're just taking advantage." He looked at her critically, "Something to keep in mind, Wolf: leadership matters. Every time. People need to be able to look to someone. And when they can't, it filters down."

Oh Gods. "Vilena. Vilena's the source."

Oreyn looked like he wanted to leap to the guildmaster's defense. But he'd long known the truth she now spoke out loud. He forced himself to lean more heavily against the wall and crossed his arms, essentially shackling himself, "Yes. It started about two years ago. When Vitellus Donton died."

"The Azani Blackheart mission," Sharah said.

Oreyn's head shot up and he looked at her carefully, "You sure you don't know everything, Wolf?"

Sharah went back to fiddling with her fingers, "I found the report."

She heard him stand off the wall, "Where?"

"Vilena has it in her desk. The lower right-hand drawer, hidden under everything. I was there when she came up to look at it. She sent me out of the office before she pulled it out though."

Oreyn cursed, rubbing at his bare skull on one side of his mohawk, "I knew it was missing. Personally I was hoping she'd burned the damn thing. Instead she's been obsessing over it?"

Sharah let him get a grip on himself before she asked, "So what happened? The report wasn't very specific."

Her superior stood straight, taking on a rigid posture as though he were reporting. She knew that mindset made it easier to talk about things that left mortal wounds on the heart, "The mage, Argoth, contracted us to retrieve an artifact from Blackheart. We tracked him to Arpenia. I went in with twenty good men. I came out with five. Vitellus wasn't one of them."

All the information that was in the report. It wasn't the whole story. "But what happened, Oreyn?"

He met her eyes. She knew the reporting mind set wouldn't be enough to keep him calm. "It all went to hell! Azani knew we were coming. Turned out he wasn't just some thieving nightblade. He was some kind of damned warlord! He had his men waiting for us in Arpenia. We walked right into an ambush. I took an arrow in the thigh, Ragar lost his ear…and Vitellus died covering our retreat." Oreyn breathed carefully, "Vilena didn't take the news well. She's been mourning him ever since. So the guild was doubly wounded: we lost the heir apparent, and our leader's strength as well."

"Leadership matters," she echoed.

"Every time," he answered, "The guild still runs. I've always handled the contracts. After the mission I just did it without her input. She picked up the paperwork after a few months. Then apparently fell off it again this year. Thus that pile we had to deal with." Sharah nodded, following the progression. "But contracts and paperwork aren't everything. They're part of running the guild, but there's always more too it. Leadership matters. If there's none, after a while people start to notice. Even if everything's running smoothly. Members lose confidence. So do the people. It's all slow and subtle. Took a year and a half for things to start going wrong for us. The people of Cyrodiil may not do it on purpose, but they're rethinking every contract they might bring to us. Meaning fewer contracts. Members aren't as confident in their guild, so some of them leave. Same when the contracts start drying up. Now, all that is starting to show and before long it'll snowball. Blackwood saw the weakness and is exploiting it. If things don't change…"

Quick as a flash there was fire in his voice again, "It's time to take action. We may have a problem with leadership right now, but Blackwood is the most pressing issue. And it's time we did something about it."

Sharah sat straighter despite herself, "You want to go after Blackwood?" There was a dart of direction in her mental flurry of emotions. The potential for purpose.

Oreyn shook his head, "No. We haven't anything on them. But we can at last cut their stride. Or try to." He strode forward and took seat across the table from her, "While I was looking into them, I found something suspicious. The Blackheart contract. Apparently, they completed it for us." Sharah felt her eyebrow rise but remained silent. Oreyn caught the gesture though, "There's more. Argoth, the client, is dead. And the artifact's gone. Don't ask me how I found out. It's better that you not know."

Sharah resisted the urge to reassure him that she probably had more underworld connections than he did. "So what do you think happened? I assume you have some idea."

"I have my suspicions. But nothing I can prove…yet. But I plan to find out. I want to find out what really happened. The Blackheart contract gave Blackwood their foothold in Leyawiin. Got them sanctioned in the city. I went in with twenty good men. I can't believe that bunch finished the job. If we can prove there was something shady on that contract, we can get the people to turn on them. At least for a little while. Hopefully long enough to get back on our feet ourselves."

Sharah caught his choice of words, "'We'?"

Oreyn's leaned in, "I can't order you to come with me. This is going to be dangerous. Vilena's not going to know about it. The truth is I want you with me on this mission, watching my back. And I want you here seeing to things while I'm gone. It can't be both, so I leave the choice up to you."

Sharah thought quickly, "Why not just send me? I can look into it on my own while you keep the guild going."

His response was instantaneous, "This is my unfinished business. There's no question in my mind that I need to see it through." When Sharah took a breath to argue, his eyes narrowed, "If you lost fifteen men on a mission, fifteen friends, would you let anyone else go in your stead to finish it?"

Sharah exhaled silently. Even if she could come up with an argument, he was set on his decision. And rightly so. Honor, retribution, duty and everything in between, Oreyn was justified in this course of action. There was no talking him out of it. But there was also no way she was letting him go it alone. She met his eyes dead on, "So when do we leave?"

XXX

Sharah's bay was utterly within his rights to be unhappy with her. She roused him before dawn and set him on the road after barely a day's rest between journeys. Modryn Oreyn did not own a horse and said he'd go on foot. Sharah assumed that meant he'd be setting the pace for their travel. Imagine her surprise when he took off running down the road so fast she had to gallop to keep up. She didn't know how he did it, but damn that mer could move. Like he was in a tunic and sandals instead of carrying fifty or so pounds of metal. Turned out her horse set the pace, as Oreyn seemed tireless.

And that was the just the first of the surprises. Sharah didn't know if it was being out of the guildhall or on a mission again, but on the road Oreyn was an entirely different person. He put his scowl and glare away and was actually smiling…and joking…and laughing!? Hermaeus Mora could retire his tomes and Nocturnal could step into the light. There was nothing new left in the world. Sharah had been working for Oreyn for months now. But this was the first time she'd met Modryn.

They traveled the Black Road to the Red Ring Road, then circled south around the great Lake Rumare. Oreyn wasn't he only who benefited from being on mission. The flurry of emotions in Sharah's head was easier to set aside with a goal to focus on, even if they remained present beneath the surface.

The only issue in their route came up around Pell's Gate, which they bypassed to Sharah's relief. No one there would appreciate seeing Umbra again, even on another's hip. Especially given what had happened in the settlement to the previous owner.

"Taking the Green Road will lose us a day down south, but there are more inns along the way."

And Bravil. Sharah was properly seething now over Maglir. Perhaps it was better she not be in close proximity to him and the Blackwood recruiters. "Let's just take the Imperial Bridge and the Yellow Road to start. I don't think we have the time to spare back-tracking after the ford."

Oreyn agreed. If he guessed the other reason, he didn't press. Although Sharah wondered briefly what the Dunmer would do if he saw Maglir now. He couldn't be any happier with Blackwood than she was, but he had years more control. He'd be above knocking Maglir senseless in the street.

"Besides," she added, "The Yellow Road isn't completely without housing. There's a place along it we can stop. It's not an inn. Btu I think we'll be welcome."

XXX

Oreyn hadn't traveled the Yellow Road since the new addition, so Sharah was the one to point out the new path off to their right. Cropsford had really sprung up since she'd been here, turning into a true settlement. Two sturdy houses with a third foundation in the works, a field of crops leaping out of the earth, and a storage shed for equipment and another in preparation for their harvest. Sharah wouldn't help but feel a little proud. They were really making a go of it.

While she was taking in the growth, Jiv Hiriel came out of the storage shed with a box of tools. So he had taken her recommendation after all. He saw the strangers, saw her…and immediate froze, went deathly pale and dropped the equipment in his hands. Well…not the first reaction she'd been expecting here.

Oreyn leaned over, "I thought you said we'd be welcome."

Barthel Gernand came out from behind a building to investigate the noise. His reaction to sighting her was an elated grin. "Sharah the Wolf!"

"We are," Sharah said down over her shoulder.

Barthel opened the house's door and called, "Callia, Sharah the Wolf is here." Then he hurried to cross the distance while Sharah dismounted. They clasped hands, "Welcome. Welcome!"

"Hello, Barthel. I see things are going well."

"Very well, yes. We got two houses up in the first month. We're working on the well and the crops are coming in. And not a goblin sighting the entire time. We hoped you'd come by to see what we've done."

Sharah replied, "I've been kept busy. I'd like to introduce Modryn Oreyn, Champion of the Fighters Guild."

The man and mer shook hands, Oreyn's grip making an appearance. "It's a pleasure to meet you, sir." "Likewise."

Sharah continued, "Oreyn and I are headed south on a mission. If it wouldn't be an intrusion, may we pass the night here?"

Barthel nodded emphatically, "Of course. I could only insist." He turned to Jiv who was still standing stock still, "Jiv. Come greet our guests." The terrified man made not a move, drawing confusion from the one who'd called him.

Sharah brushed the reaction aside, "He's just surprised to see me. I hope it wasn't a bother to send him here. He really needed a fresh start."

Barthel turned back to her, once again all smiles, "Oh no. He's been very helpful. And we're glad to have him. We've already started work on his home over here."

Barthel's daughter, Callia Bincal, stepped out of the nearest house, her belly gently swollen with child. Her welcome equaled her father's. Sharah staked her bay in a grazing area and took advantage of the others' distraction to approach Jiv before he could think about bolting.

"Hello, Jiv. How are things going?"

She saw the shake in his shoulders, "Good. Fine. I'm not causing any trouble."

Sharah smiled gently, though it didn't seem to ease him. "Good, good. You might try relaxing. You're embarrassing yourself…and me." Sharah's mile became less gentle, "Keep in mind, Jiv, if I had intended you harm would have done it in Hackdirt. And as long as you've left all that behind you—"

"I have!" he blurted.

"Good. Then you've nothing to fear from me. So I'd appreciate it if you would get control and not wet yourself between now and tomorrow when I leave. Understood?" He bobbed his head like a halfwit. "Good."

As Jiv walked away Sharah caught Oreyn watching the exchange. When they were afforded a private moment, Sharah said, "Remember telling not to ask how you learned about Argoth and the artifact after the Blackwood took the Azani contract?" She met his eyes pointedly, "Don't ask why Jiv is afraid of me." There was no reading his expression. But he followed her past example and left the question asside.

When Callia's husband, Aloys, came in from the field his welcome was as sincere as the rest. Which was good considering she remembered him being the most unhappy with their relocation from High Rock. Now he said Cropsford felt like home.

Oreyn and Sharah were invited to join them for supper. Although Jiv kept to a corner by himself. Sitting there, talk of crops and weather filling the air, the home cooked food and the small house setting. Sharah was reminded of a far different time that seemed longer gone in her mind than it was in seasons.

"So, Callia, when are you due?" Sharah asked.

The woman touched her belly, getting a dreamy look in her eye, "Six months. I am glad we had most everything settled beforehand. I'll be utterly useless before too long."

"What are you hoping for? Boy or girl?"

"Oh, we know it will be a boy. Our village seer back home told us our firstborn would be a boy," Callia continued to stroke the swell. "We actually wish it were a girl. Then we would name her Sharah."

Sharah dropped her head to hide a blush.

Aloys said, "We have tried adapting the name. But nothing really seems to fit. And we haven't thought of anything else."

Sharah chuckled, "Yes, Sharah is decidedly feminine." She fell quiet for a moment, "…My brother's name was Garond. If that would work better."

The Bincals exchanged smiles and nods, "Garond Bincal. We'd be honored to name him after your brother."

"The honor would be entirely mine." Only Oreyn noted the shadow of sadness in her smile and that she was quieter the remainder of the evening.

XXX

Sharah's stomach was roiling by the time she and Oreyn set their sleeping pallets in the yet empty crop shed. She shouldn't have mentioned her brother. It just came out. And all the bad memories were coming to the surface. Or that one bad memory. Now the guilt in her system was piling up, rapidly outweighing the anger and affecting her focus. It was unbearable.

From the moment Sharah lay down she knew she'd be tossing and turning for hours. Tomorrow she'd be exhausted all day, not to mention what this would do to her focus. And when they finally got to Arpenia…Sharah could just see this getting one or both of them killed. She just had to get some of this off her chest. Oh damn. Sharah knew what she had to do. It was the only thing she could bear to say out loud. She just hoped Oreyn didn't hate her afterwards.

"Oreyn?"

He grunted in the dark but she couldn't tell how close to asleep he was.

Oh damn, this could not end well. "Oreyn, I have to tell you something." Another grunt. Sharah took a deep breath. Just like setting a bone. Do it quick and get it over with. "I…I lied to you. About Maglir. The first time you sent me to deal with him defaulting in Skingrad. He didn't complete the contract. I did it for him and let him say he did…I'm sorry."

The silence was deafening. And the roiling of guilt was replaced by a heavy river stone in her stomach.

"I know, Wolf."

Her head whipped around even though she could barely see him in the dark, "How?" She'd wondered…but he'd never said anything.

"You're a hell of a warrior, Wolf. But a terrible liar."

Sharah thought about her place in the Thieves Guild. Did he somehow know about that, too? Or did her guile only fail when it mattered to the Fighters Guild? "Why didn't you call me out on it?"

"I told you to find him and make sure the contract got finished. You had your reasons for doing what you did, right?"

"Well, yeah. At least—"

"Then what does it matter? You followed orders, completed your assignment. You did what you thought was best. End of story. Stop dwelling on it." In the quiet, she couldn't help but dwell on it. "Mmm. You think Maglir dropped the guild because you were soft on him that first time."

He had to hear her shifting uncomfortably.

"Hate to break it to you, Wolf, but I knew he was a temporary member from the moment he joined up. Whether you postponed it or not, he was bound to drop out of the guild eventually." She heard him roll over, "So what'd he say to you anyway? You lied to me, so I assume it was more than his usual complaining."

Even if Sharah couldn't see him looking, she still averted her eyes, "He said he had to take care of his family."

There was a pause. "You really do fall for that, don't you?"

"It's not 'falling for'…I don't…" Oh damn, she was an emotional wreck anyway. "My family—my birth family died. I lost them, it was horrible and I couldn't do anything about it. So, yes! Family is important to me. And the Fighters Guild is the closest thing I have anymore!"

She put her back to him and hugged herself close, barely keeping herself from breaking down into tears. Too fresh. Too painful. All this time and nothing had changed.

"What happened, Wolf?" he asked gently.

No, she didn't want to talk about it. Not ever. To anyone. Ever!

"Please, tell me. I want to know."

No. She hadn't. She wasn't. She wouldn't.

"Sharah…"

He sounded so concerned.

Damn.

**I know I've been holding out on her backstory. But I really saw the heart to heart happening here. Thanks for bearing with me. Next chapter we get Sharah's tragic loss out in detail.**

**Review please. Even you PM'ers. Call me selfish, but I'd like everyone to read your takes and see the number of reviews go up.**


	17. Bad Memories and Black Hearts

**Update. Sharah's tragedy revealed. **

**Thank you Aletheya for your diligent commenting. I love to read them. And I'm glad that father-figure thing got across.**

**As for the rest of you readers...(glare)... you can say something you know, it doesn't take that long. **

Oh, Gods, she was gonna tell him. She didn't want to. She never wanted to. But if she didn't, she'd break right here, right now. And it'd be months to heal. And of all the people Sharah had met in all her travels, she was going to tell Modryn Oreyn.

But she couldn't start with that night. She'd have to…work up to it.

"I didn't grow up knowing hardship. My childhood, my youth…it bordered on perfect. My parents loved each other. They loved my brother and me. We weren't rich, but we never went hungry. Maybe it was where we lived. After my father and mother met, they settled down in this little spot of the countryside east of Riverpoint. The crops always yielded, we had natural protection from bandits and…just about everything that would threaten us. Riverpoint was close enough we could go for supplies or holidays. But for the most part it was me, my parents, and my brother. It was…perfect."

Sharah still remembered wandering the land around her house as far as she'd dared, running with her younger brother through the grasslands playing adventure with their weaponry of sticks. She'd been so bossy about those games, dictating what beast they'd slay or what relic they'd be seeking. She had such an imagination and Garond would be so caught up with it all that he'd never complain. Until she turned around, called herself a bandit and chased him back home. He'd be crying 'no fair', and they'd bicker until mother took away their 'swords' and set them about their chores. The next day they'd go right back to it. Maybe those games had been her Ra Gada Urge at work, strong from the start.

"One of my favorite things to do was listen to my father tell stories about his adventuring days. I never got tired of hearing them. I still remember, when I was eight years old, I told him I was going to do exactly what he did. I was going to travel the land as far as I could, see everything he had and more. I so wanted to be like he'd been.

"He sat with me and told me everything he'd had to do before he left home. All the work it took to prepare. But that just made me more excited…Looking back now, I guess he'd been trying to talk me out of it.

"Eventually, he promised me that when I came of age, if I still wanted to follow his footsteps, he would outfit me himself and help me start my own adventure.

"Everything changed for me after that. Every spare moment I had I was doing…anything I could think of to prepare. And every year on my birthday I'd remind him. 'Eight more years, father. Only eight to go.' 'Four more, father. Do you remember? You promised.'"

Sharah sighed. Those days had been filled with such anticipation. Her father had only taught her basics with the blade, but she repeated the exercises diligently. They lived in such a peaceful area, so Sharah never really had an opportunity to really advance her skills beyond driving off wild animals. But she made the most of it, her excitement only building with each passing year. And when she wasn't out practicing or strengthening herself, she'd be mapping out her adventures to come. Sharah loved her family. But she looked ever forward to the day she'd step into the great unknown world with her father's blessing. Her Ra Gada Urge only kept contained by his promise.

"A week before my eighteenth birthday, my father went to town and came home with a large box. I can't tell you how excited I was. I barely slept." The words began to stick in her throat, but there was no stopping now, "On my birthday, after dinner, my father brought out the box. He and mother watched me untie the binding and open it…" She paused in her telling, almost seeing the scene before her eyes. "…Inside was a dress, and ribbons, and some jewelry…Everything a girl might want to look pretty…"

Her eyes were stinging now, "I was so angry at him. I felt like he'd gone back on his word. Like he'd broken his promise to me. I went to bed without saying anything. Not even to Garond."

Sharah tried to choke down the pain in her voice before continuing. "That night, while everyone was sleeping, I packed my things. I took gold from my parent's chest and I stole my father's sword. And I left."

She wiped hurriedly at the tears on her cheeks, her face burning with shame. "I was actually proud of myself. Proud that I'd left in the dead of night without a word to my family about it. I just picked a direction and I went as fast as I could…It wasn't even a day before I actually realized what I'd done. Realized that it wasn't fair to anyone for me to just disappear like that. So I turned around and went home. I thought…maybe I actually talk to my father about it. He'd never do anything he didn't think was best for me. That maybe I just didn't understand."

Her hands were shaking now, the culmination of her pain welling up in her chest, "The ruins were still smoking when I got back. I saw the smoke before I saw the house. I could smell it burning. I found their bodies...all black…I couldn't even tell them apart…Then I panicked. I found them, I saw them, and then I ran. I went to the road. Convinced a merchant caravan to take me with them to Cyrodiil."

Sharah's eyes were overflowing and every sob wracked her entire body, "I don't even know what happened. I keep thinking, maybe if I had been there, they might still be alive. All I know is I abandoned my family and when I came back, I was alone. I didn't even bury them! I saw it all and I couldn't think, so I ran away and just left them there!" The dam had broken and she was swept away by the storm of her sadness and grief. Four years of pent up emotion leaving her in tears and convulsions in the darkness.

Sharah didn't hear Oreyn move, but she felt him muscle her into a sitting position and hold her tight even when she tried to pull away. Ultimately the offering of support was too much and she went limp, weeping herself out against him while Oreyn remained solid as a fortress for her.

She'd never truly mourned her loss. The moment she found the wreckage of her life, she'd shut everything away, being too afraid to face it all down. Now there was no stopping it. "I should have been there. They needed me there. Maybe I could have done something! If I'd been there, they might still be alive! But I left them. I left them…" She couldn't say anything more. Only sob while Oreyn held on to her.

She didn't know how long she cried, but her throat was raw and her chest ached by the end. When her sobs were reduced, she realized Oreyn was speaking gently to her in a language she didn't recognize. But the words were beautiful and comforting. They calmed her even if she didn't understand what he was saying.

After the storm of her pain had passed, Sharah felt too weak to move. And, Gods bless him, Oreyn didn't let her go. His strength was more than she deserved.

"I'm so sorry, Sharah," Oreyn said, rubbing her arm rhythmically. The pressure breaking through the haze left in her. "I know what you've gone through. But believe me; this feeling is going to pass. It will never vanish, but it will fade. You just have to hang on and be patient."

She shuddered, "It…doesn't feel like that."

"That's because you've kept it in. You never talked anyone about this, have you?" She shook her head. "That was a mistake. But it's going to get better now. I promise."

"How do you know?" Her heart felt ripped into pieces, beyond healing. How long could it possibly take to get better?

Oreyn sighed, "You're not the only orphan in the Fighters Guild. I'm the last of my line as well. The difference is, I know exactly who took my family from me…and I can't do a damn thing about it."

Sharah looked up at him, "Why? Who was it?"

"The Daedric Prince, Malacath. My grandfather, Oreyn Bearclaw, did ill by an orc and Malacath chose to take it out on my entire family line. To the best of my knowledge, I am all that remains." She felt him force his breathing even, "I keep waiting for him to find me and finish the job. But that doesn't keep me from living as I do."

Oreyn shifted to speak down to her, "Now you listen to me. I don't know what happened to your family. But they did not die because you left. But because you left, you were spared. Don't ever regret that. Understand?" She nodded against his chest, breathing through the last of her hurt. "You're right about one thing, though. You do have the guild. Every one of us."

Sharah sniffed loudly, "Thank you, Oreyn. You don't know how much I appreciate that."

He patted her back and kissed her forehead gently, "I think I do. Are you feeling better?"

"Some," Sharah replied weakly.

"Think you can get to sleep now?" Another nod. She was exhausted from crying herself out. It was still raw, but Sharah felt lighter somehow. Like she'd cried something out of herself. And in no small part thanks to Oreyn.

The mer eased her off his chest and helped tuck her into her pallet. "I wish you'd talked to someone sooner, but I understand how hard this was for you. From now on, don't be so afraid to share your pain. It's not a weakness, and we can lend you strength." He smoothed the hair out of her face, then went to settle down himself. After a minute, Oreyn said, "You've done a lot of good here, Sharah. We've been privileged to have you. And I know your parents would be proud if they saw you now." He paused a moment, then said more lightly, "I'm just sorry you had to stick your neck out for a little vermin like Maglir. The fetcher didn't know how good he had it with you looking out for him. We'll kick his ass later."

Sharah laughed in a little burst. She'd thought to ease a little of her guilt, and somehow Oreyn had helped take such a load off her soul. "Oreyn." He grunted. "Thank you."

"Any time, Sharah. Now go to sleep. Tomorrow will be better."

Losing her family still hurt. It would always hurt. But…tomorrow would be better. She'd trust Oreyn's word on that. So Sharah slept soundly.

XXX

"Is that it?" Oreyn and Sharah looked across a bare stretch of land to where a door of Ayleid stone was set into the slope. The only cover between the door and where they stood were the remnants the entry arches that jutted out of the ground like the bare ribs of the city's old glory.

Oreyn nodded, his eyes set and jaw stiff, "That's it." Arpenia.

She was settled on a knee in the dirt, and now looked up at him, "So what now?"

Sharah's mind was so incredibly clear after her emotional fit in Cropsford. It had been one of the most difficult things she'd ever done but it had been more cleansing than she'd thought possible. Like cutting a great length of hair from your head. She hadn't even realized the weight that she'd been carrying around all this time until it was gone.

Two days of travel later, and she and Oreyn stood on the threshold of his own pain. And the Dunmer seemed to be in emotional pain despite his rigid Guild-second pretense.

He stood in thought for a moment, utterly tense, before answering her, "There's only one entrance. No sentries that I can see." Oreyn paused. He seemed to be having more difficulty working through his thoughts than usual. Small wonder considering what happening the last time he was here.

"Oreyn?" Sharah asked, watching him.

The mer stiffened even further, "We can't do anything about the entrance. But once we're inside, we'll need to keep quiet. No unnecessary risk." Well, all that was obvious, but the way he said it…Oreyn didn't sound like himself.

"Oreyn, are you alright?"

His face twisted into a snarl, "Of course I'm not alright. The last time I did this I lost fifteen men. I told them the same thing and…Dammit, Wolf, I've no idea what we're walking into!"

Sharah saw the war behind his eyes. She drew Umbra and took a better grip on her light iron shield, "If we don't know, then we play it cautious. I've actually done this before…a lot." Who knew all that dungeon diving might actually do more than dull her blade and fill her pockets with treasure. "We'll play it stealthy then. Stick to the shadows, watch corners. And just hope for the best. Unless you'd rather we just head back to headquarters."

That last bit set him straight. Oreyn pulled his mace free and squared his shoulders grimly. "Not a chance," he growled.

She held her blade at the ready, "Then I'm right behind you, sir."

They crossed the clearing and entered the ruin. Every step was as quiet as possible. Every corner was treated like it might hide an enemy and Oreyn was tense the entire way, waiting for the ambush to spring. Once in a while they passed a faded spot of blood on the floor. Sharah didn't want to ask who had fallen at each place.

But nothing happened. They passed through every passage and met no one, finally ending in a large antechamber…empty. Arpenia was completely and utterly empty. Oreyn's tense battle stance changed to a nervous pacing as he walked all around the chamber with a look on his face that would frighten a small child.

"Nothing. Nothing! There was no battle. They'd have left something behind." He kept pacing, searching for something in the ruins. Oreyn spoke more to himself than to Sharah, "There's no way they killed him and cleaned the place out. There'd be no point. Had to have made some kind of deal with him. Blackwood takes the weapon, completely the contract. Then turns around and tells Azani where to find the mage so he can retrieve it and collect on it. Has to be." He turned to her, "We have to find Blackheart. If he up and moved, it wouldn't be far. The bastard was living like a king here. And he had a taste for these Ayleid ruins." Oreyn's eyes darted around as he tossed through his thoughts, "There's another ruin to the north east of here. We'll start with that."

Oreyn immediately strode for the exit leaving Sharah to run in order to keep up. "What if he's not there, Oreyn? Blackheart could have cleared out of the area after that."

He barely spared her a glance but his tone was hard, "Then we keep looking. We don't stop until we find him."

"I'm with you. But we need a plan—"

The mer rounded on her, utterly livid, "You want a plan, Wolf? We find Azani. No matter how long it takes. We find him and we take him down. That plan enough for you?!"

He spoke more harshly than he likely intended and Sharah fell into a subordinate's stance before him, "Yes, sir."

Oreyn turned and continued stalking through and out of the ruins. Sharah followed, mute on his heels. They traveled several hours in silence, Oreyn keeping a ruthless pace. His anger wasn't directed at her. Sharah guessed he had his own pile of guilt weighing him down. But experience told her that trying to talk a man like Oreyn about it would get nowhere. With a man like Oreyn, you had to wait for him to bring it up, or he'd just shut down and get angrier.

She was concerned when the Ayleid ruin he'd spoken of came into sight. Once again they stopped within view of the ruin, but out of sight themselves. Oreyn was a bundle of nerves, hands clenching and opening, constantly touching the handle of his mace. Sharah had been worried about her emotional flurry distracting her. Now she worried about his. She'd never seen him like this.

Sharah was trying to find a way to broach the subject when Oreyn let out a heavy curse and paced furiously around their hiding place.

"Sir?"

"Dammit, Wolf. This never should have happened." He froze on the spot and ground his teeth. He breathed deeply for a few minutes, then turned to her, the old guildhall Oreyn looking down at her, "You're going to have to take lead."

"What? Why?"

He gestured furiously, "Look at me, Wolf. I can't think straight. All I can think about is what Azani did to our men. If I lead, I'm going to get both of us killed. Don't tell me you weren't thinking exactly that this entire time." Sharah didn't try to refute him, and that was answer enough. "You're going to lead. You've a cooler head now than I do. And you said you've had experience with this. Certainly more recent experience than I have, at least. You lead…I'll follow. It's better this way."

Sharah looked toward the ruin. Oreyn's attitude already had her on edge about this. Azani sounded like a real piece of work. He'd have spent at least a year here. He'd have traps, lookouts, guards. He'd have a superior position and superior numbers. Back at Arpenia, Oreyn had infiltrated the ruin like a soldier. It was his accustomed method. But Sharah's accustomed method of tackling situations like this was…a little different.

Sharah looked back at the Dunmer, all complacency out of her eyes and posture, "If you want me to lead this mission, Oreyn, I'm going to do it my way. And I doubt it's the kind of thing you're used to."

"So you have a plan?"

"Yeah, but it's…" Sneaky? "…covert. And complete." Ruthless as well.

"If it gets us to Azani, I'll do whatever I have to," he said, standing at attention. It was odd to see him standing there ready to take orders. And did he look…relieved? Sharah didn't spare the time to read his expression more closely. They needed to get moving.

"We're gonna take this slow. Keep your weapon out, and stay absolutely silent. Let's go."

There were no sentries inside the entrance. In fact the first obstacle they came across was a long hallway filled with swinging blade traps. It looked daunting, but it was really just a matter of stepping at the proper intervals. Sharah took the trap to be a good sign. It meant anyone here was less likely to feel like guarding the entrance. Likely. She knew better than to plan for it though.

Once past the blades, they caught sight of their first enemy. He was standing a hundred feet away from the entrance hallway, looking out into a large chamber, smoking something that was probably illegal. His back was to the entrance and he hardly seemed to be paying attention. Just bored on watch duty. His counterpart was on the far side of the chamber, on the other rail.

"Do you recognize him?" she whispered, "Was he with Azani?"

She heard Oreyn growl, "Yeah. That's the one who put an arrow in my leg."

Sharah motioned for the Dunmer to stay where he was, and stay quiet. Then she slipped forward, through the shadows, toward her target. Sharah waited until the counterpart had turned around and passed behind a pillar. Then she jammed her forearm in his mouth and shoved Umbra through his rib cage. No mercy. No remorse. Every man in here was an enemy. And she was only too willing to clear every one from the way before they reached their prize.

She and Oreyn made their way around the outside railing, dispatching the other sentry when they came across him. Oreyn's steps were quiet. Hers didn't even make a sound. The skills of a thief turned to a different purpose. Sharah continued to direct Oreyn, avoiding traps and judging their next movement by what she remembered about Ayleid ruins.

The bottom dropped out of the room further on, giving way to another two level chamber. She saw a lit opening in the wall that led around the edge and an open but dark walkway straight across. Her thief's instinct chose the walkway.

They were halfway across when the stone beneath their feet shifted…then gave way and entire section of the bridge collapsed, taking the fighters with it. Instinct took over and Sharah threw herself forward, her chest slamming into what remained of the walkway and arms clasping at the dusty stone to keep herself from falling with the rock and stone to the lower level.

Oreyn wasn't so lucky. The instant she saw he hadn't made the leap she ceased her struggling for purchase and craned her head around and yelled for him, the sounds of her call drowned out by the last echoes of the crash as they faded into the ruin. Sharah stare down into the black, heart in her chest and the silence pounding in her ears. The she heard a groan. Sharah didn't hesitate a minute, letting go and dropping the twelve or more feet to the floor after him. Gods only knew how she kept her feet and managed not to crack her skull against a stone. Sharah spoke a spell and leapt to dig out the flickering life force that appeared in her vision.

"Oreyn? Oreyn, come on. Talk to me," she begged, shifting a stone. He groaned again and she redoubled her efforts. Oh, thank the Nine he wore a cuirass of iron. In the settling dust she saw that the Dunmer had been struck so hard in the chest there was now a massive dent in the metal he wore. As she pulled more debris away there were voices to be heard above. Sharah clapped her hand over Oreyn's mouth in bid for silence as they approached.

"Erin, what are you doing?"

"I thought I heard something."

"Yeah. The bridge collapsing. Like we didn't know that was gonna happen eventually."

"No, I mean something else. Didn't you hear someone scream?"

"It was probably just a rat down below. Probably what collapsed the bridge. Come on. It's still hours before our watch. Maybe we can filch one of Blackheart's precious wine bottles before they come get us."

The suspicious companion was eventually convinced to leave and Sharah waited until she couldn't hear them anymore before going back to getting Oreyn loose. "Oreyn. Oreyn!" she whispered.

"I'm fine, Wolf. Calm down," he groaned. Sharah couldn't help but sigh in relief.

He hadn't entirely escaped harm. Oreyn flinched as she rolled a stone away from his ankle. The Dunmer didn't wear greaves, and it was tilted at an unnatural angle. "Looks like it's broken, Oreyn. Can you mend it?"

The mer grunted and shook his head, "Never had the head for magic. Always better with a mace."

"Hold still. I'll do what I can." Sharah set the bone quickly, Oreyn gritting his teeth in stubborn silence. Then Sharah began casting restoration into the limb. Good thing she'd found the time to take a couple lessons with Gureryne Selvilo in Chorrol. Or she might have been forced to leave Oreyn behind to continue on, or both of them to leave the ruins completely. As it was, she managed to get the bone mended for the most part. The seam wasn't at full strength, but he could walk and fight on it if he was careful.

Oreyn looked up at the broken walkway above them while she worked, "Looks like we're not going back that way."

There was a pair of hallways on either side of the lower level. The one they chose went up two stories before letting out on a high walkway along the side of the chamber further on. The Ayleids really liked to complicate their passages. Probably made them more of a mess for invaders, but they did always circle back and together.

Halfway along the walk, Oreyn yanked her back just as an intense fireball sizzled by ahead of her and exploded against the wall. She and Oreyn jumped behind the walkway's pillars as two mages started hurling fireballs at all around them.

Oreyn looked out, then ducked back with a curse. These fireballs were conjured to kill. "Damn. They've got us pinned. And they'll alert the whole ruins at this rate. And too far back to the passage." He looked at the bow on her back, "You any good with that thing?"

She shook her head, shrinking herself behind her stone defense, "Not under these conditions. I'll be lucky to even get a shot off."

"Give it here, then," he said. Sharah pulled the bow and quiver from her back and tossed them to Oreyn through the fireballs. He notched an arrow and waited for an opening before spinning out and sending an arrow flying. The fireballs quickly sent him back behind cover.

Sharah looked both ways down the walkway. It bent into a covered alcove at the end then along the next wall. But while the side they stood on was illuminated, the other was not, and Sharah's instincts screamed at her to get back into her element…and then do something superbly stupid.

Sharah shoved a hand into her pocket and said to Oreyn, "Keep them off me. I need to get into position." He nodded and notched another arrow. Sharah yanked out the Ring of Khajiit and shoved it on her finger. In the full illumination of the walkway, the mages would spot her movement unless they were looking elsewhere. The enchantment wasn't for perfect invisibility after all, so she'd need Oreyn's distraction.

At the same moment, Oreyn whirled to loose another arrow and Sharah sprinted for the end of the walkway. She heard a grunt as his bolt found a mark but didn't stop to look. Sharah skidded to a stop in the alcove. There was a stairway there, but it went down further than the lower level so she ran down the adjacent walkway. The shadows embraced her and the fiery barrage remained centered around where Oreyn waited, now alone.

Once fully concealed, Sharah put her hand to the rail and tossed herself over the side. She fell at least fifteen feet and hit the ground hard, even though she rolled when she struck, pain lanced up her legs. Despite that, Umbra was unsheathed the moment Sharah regained her feet and she made for the offending mages. It took them too long to realize the threat was now on their level. Just long enough, in fact, for her to kill them both.

Silence reigned, telling Sharah they had not immediately attracted any extra attention. So she pulled off the ring, shifting to alleviate some of the pain in her legs while Oreyn stepped out from behind the pillar.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"Fine, Wolf. You jumped!?"

Sharah nodded, speaking restoration into her legs through an idiotic grin. Looking up at him, Sharah thought it was a bit higher than she'd thought when she'd decided to throw herself over the edge. Reckless and lucky. Her Thief birthsign at work, and full proof her guilt trip hadn't clung to her. Oreyn was eyeing the side, she knew what he was thinking, "Don't even, Oreyn. The ankle's not full strength. It won't take the jump. Not to mention what else you'll break along the way." She looked toward the corner of the passage, "Keep going. Take the stairs. These ruins always circle around. We'll meet further in." Sharah made sure she put an order into her tone. Hopefully, Oreyn wouldn't take back his leadership role over this.

He didn't. "Alright, you're the boss. But do not engage Azani Blackheart alone. Do you understand?"

"Got it. Stay safe, Oreyn. I'll see you later."

The Dunmer headed down the walkway as she turned and started toward a torch-lit passage on the near side of the chamber. Sharah stayed alert, not wanting to run into a squadron of Azani's men that might be coming to investigate the noise. Overall, Sharah felt good. She was in her element: a blade in her hand, concealed in the shadows. She was death unseen. Although the one Khajiit along her path didn't have the opportunity to appreciate it.

The passage was long and there was only one doorway at the end. The chamber beyond was unlike the others in the ruin. Smaller for one thing, although with the usual high ceiling. But it looked lived in. Rugs were spread out all around the floor. Candelabras cast warm firelight against the walls while the hanging Ayleid crystals in the ceiling lit up everything else in brilliant blue and white, illuminating every corner. Furniture was arranged to seat a large group comfortably. The rest of the ruins had been left bare. This room was properly furnished.

Sharah knew better than to stand around in the open light and hid behind the nearest pedestal just as someone came into the room. She waited a moment, then chanced a look. He had settled into a chair on the far side of the room, a book in his hands. A full blooded Redguard garbed in full elven armor and had a fine elven claymore lashed to his back.

Even from across the room she could tell that the blade was exquisitely crafted. Argoth's enchanted claymore, Sinweaver. Had to be. Which would make that Azani Blackheart. Not that it was difficult to figure that out considering no one else in the ruin had been wearing armor even remotely as impressive.

Sharah leaned back out of sight and pressed into the stone of the pillar. This was not good. There were no shadows to hide in, no way to get back to the door without him seeing her. And she really didn't want him to see her. Sharah had to assume he was a warlord for good reason. And who knew how many of the guild's losses had been at his hands. The passage Azani had come out of could lead back into the ruin…or it could be into an isolated room. If the second was true, there was no telling when Oreyn would show up. To the best of her knowledge, Sharah was trapped, alone, in a room with Azani Blackheart. This was not good.

Sharah held Umbra, careful not to allow any contact between it and her shield. She listened to Azani's movements. A cough and the flick of a page. She couldn't even cast a life detect spell to check if Oreyn was nearby. In the silence of this small chamber, Azani would hear it. If Ayleid ruins did one thing, it was echo. Another flick of a page, then shifting and footsteps. Sharah breathed quietly, keeping a relaxed grip on her weapon. Any other idiot might be tempted to leap around the pillar and hope to take the man by surprise. She was more than willing to remain exactly where she was and wait for an opening. In situations like this, patience was key. So Sharah waited, and listened. More footsteps, then silence…and more silence…

Instinct made her duck just as the claymore cracked into the stone where her head had been. She leapt away, bringing Umbra up to defend as Azani Blackheart came at her. The ring of clashing swords echoed through the ruins as they met in battle. At the first impact, Sharah knew she was in trouble. He was a warrior, born and bred, and wielded his blade like a master. As good as Oreyn, and she'd never bested the mer.

But even worse than that was the blade he wielded. Sinweaver had been enchanted for this. With every strike to her sword and shield, Sharah felt it sapping her strength. And as if that weren't enough, it radiated heat through her equipment and into her flesh making each blow burn. She was outmatched against him and retreated, using the room's pillars and furniture to avoid direct engagement. It wasn't enough though. Even minimal contact with Sinweaver left her weak and stumbling. Umbra could give her the experience, but her body was what was failing.

He caught her shield and forced it from her hand and slammed her to the ground. The warlord pinned her blade under his foot even as Umbra screamed in her mind, and raised his weapon to finish the job. But a steel mace caught him in the back. Oreyn came out of nowhere and struck Azani from behind. The Redguard spun around, removing his boot in the process and giving her the opportunity she needed. Sharah yanked her sword up and drove it into his armpit, stabbing through the armor's weak binding. He roared in pain and Oreyn brought his mace down in a ferocious strike, crushing Azani's skull and killing him in an instant. Just like that, it was over. Azani Blackheart fell to the ground, dead.

Sharah and Oreyn breathed for a moment, letting the vigor of battle drain out of them.

"What did I tell you?" Oreyn finally demanded.

Sharah lay back, unwilling to lift her head to shoot him a defensive glare, "He engaged me. I had no choice."

Oreyn came over offered her a hand. Sharah barely had the strength to take it and was pulled to her feet. Umbra was still slightly wedged into the body and Sharah forced herself to bend over and pull it out before cleaning it. Sinweaver had accomplished its created purpose. Sharah felt like she'd been through intense physical labor for hours. Oreyn noticed her dragging movement, "You alright?"

She shrugged, her arms shaking as she managed to put Umbra back in its sheath, "Sinweaver's enchantment. Drained my strength. Don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up."

Oreyn replied, "The passage led down to some Ayleid sewer. Finally let out in Blackheart's private bath and chamber." He turned to the body, taking stock of their accomplishment and its repercussions. The expression of shock was frozen forever on Azani's face while brain matter and bits of skull were pouring from the large gaping hole in the back of his head. Sharah didn't feel like gagging when she looked, but it was an unpleasant sight. "He's finally dead," Oreyn said quietly, "It wasn't for nothing. They weren't lost for nothing."

He looked at the dead man's hand, then bent to pry something loose. In the meantime, Sharah turned to pick up Sinweaver from where it had fallen. That mage had really gone all out on it. She'd seen a few elven weapons, but this was one of the finest quality of any of them. And the enchantment was so strong she could feel the imbued magic just by grasping the hilt. It was no Umbra, but a sword like this would turn any descent swordsman into a truly dangerous adversary.

Oreyn stood, having removed a ring from Azani's finger, "This will be proof enough that we defeated Blackheart. Blackwood won't be able to explain this away. I need to start spreading the word as soon as possible. Maybe it will keep Blackwood at bay long enough for Vilena to come back to us."

Sharah hefted Sinweaver in her hands, "What about this? The weapon we were contracted to retrieve. What do we do with it?"

Oreyn looked at the claymore, but did not move to take the hilt. "Argoth was the client, but with him dead there's no one to return it to." He glanced up at her, "What do you think?"

She looked down at the weapon, "I think it's too dangerous to be on the streets."

Oreyn nodded, "Agreed. Then you keep it. Use it, hide it away, throw it in the Niben. I don't care. I wouldn't trust anyone else with that thing."

Sharah looked down at the weapon and shook her head, "Not my style. I'll find somewhere to put it."

"Let's get out of here," he said.

They picked up Sinweaver's scabbard and left Azani's chamber. They met some of Azani's men on the way out. Some fought. Oreyn took care of them. Most saw Sinweaver on her back and didn't bother getting close enough to see the ring on Oreyn's finger. They just scattered. Sharah avoided the fighting. It would be a few hours before she had her strength back after suffering through Sinweaver's enchantment.

Outside, Sharah was beyond grateful that she'd ridden instead of walking. And doubly so for the inn that was only a couple hours from the ruin. The Drunken Dragon. It was out in the middle of nowhere, but it had good beer. Or so Oreyn said, since she'd never had a taste for the stuff.

"I'm going to head back to Chorrol. Get this news circulating," Oreyn said over their meal. "You take care of that thing. Then take a couple weeks off."

She looked up from her plate of venison and greens, " 'Off'? You're giving me time off?"

"Don't look so surprised, Wolf. You've done plenty of work since I called you to Chorrol. So, take a break. Do something pointless. There'll be more to do when you get back to Chorrol. And I'm advancing you to Warder. I'll make it official once I'm back at headquarters, and you can pick up your guild patch after your vacation."

Sharah nestled into a proper bed for the first time since Chorrol and absolutely adored it. But now she faced two weeks without assignment. She actually had trouble thinking of what to do with the time. Well, she'd have to get Sinweaver out of the way. Her Anvil house might suit it. Leaving it in that hidden room in the basement would ensure no one ever found the stupid thing. But that was an awful long way to go.

Maybe she'd just leave it in her Imperial City house for a while. It was as safe there as anywhere else. Yeah, that would work. And then Sharah could spend her two weeks in the Imperial City. The big city would be a change of pace from the wilderness. And she wouldn't be far from Chorrol once her vacation was over with.

The decision made, Sharah nestled into the blankets and mattress and slept like the dead.

**Next chapter will see the return of the Gray Fox. Lucien will appear in Ch 22.  
**


	18. Into the Vampire's Jaws

**The real world is a real buzz-kill. I won't have much fiction time over the next week so the next posting will be delayed. This chapter was going to be longer. But then I saw it was also going to be the longest chapter on my list, so I'm splitting part into the next chapter. **

**There'll be a few more chapters before Lucien shows up again. Read, enjoy and review.**

Alright, a vacation in the Imperial city was exactly what she needed. Normally, Sharah needed the wide spread of the open sky and the solace of the wilderness. Maybe it was because that was more akin to where she grew up. But a vacation was supposed to be a change of pace. And the big city was most certainly that: crowds of people everywhere, tall stone structures reaching skyward wherever you looked, the shear variety and mass of…everything. There was nowhere like it in all of Cyrodiil.

Sharah went to her home on the Waterfront first to stash Sinweaver. Her little shack had previously housed a thief who'd been caught and incarcerated for…something. But, being a thief's home, it had a few little secrets. Specifically, it had a small basement that was so well concealed that Sharah had owned the place for months without realizing it was there. The basement had an outside entrance at the back. Also perfectly concealed. Sharah didn't have much use for it, but left the entry unlocked as a common courtesy to her neighbors. Sometimes a thief just needed somewhere to hide.

So, Sharah got to the city, stashed the claymore and then went about…not planning her day. That was the real change of pace. No plan, no arrangement, no responsibility. Gods…what was she going to do with herself?

That turned out easier than she thought: anything she damn well pleased. And she was in for a full two weeks of it. And with a very full chest of gold in her home, Sharah really could indulge herself. So she did: shopping in the Market District, pleasure strolls through the Arboretum and the Elven Gardens district.

When she wanted to kill something, she didn't even have to leave the city. Sharah just went to the Arena and signed up for a match. Gladion and Breni, her Arena buddies, were glad to see her. And she was glad to see them still alive after all these months. Owyn, the Arena Blademaster, complained about her abandoning the Arena for the Fighters Guild. But then, he was cranky by nature, so she didn't take his tirade too seriously. And of course, Ingle, the Yellow Team's Champion was still as aggravating and twitish as ever. If Sharah hadn't been assigned to Guild headquarters she might be tempted to stick around the Arena long enough to advance to her rank and take her shot against the woman. But the guild far outweighed any personal grievance, so the woman lived…for now.

Sharah decided that if anything was really going to tempt her to stay indefinitely in the Imperial City it would be the food. With all the nobles and snooty city folk that lived there, the capital had some of the finest cuisine Sharah had ever come across. If you knew where to look, and had the coin to purchase it. Which…Sharah did. The Tiber Septim Hotel quickly became one of her favorites. Even if she did have to polish her boots and put on some better than casual clothes before walking in the door.

On her eighth day in town, Sharah sat in the hotel enjoying a meal. They cooked their beef some special way that made it just melt in her mouth. Not to mention the vegetables with some delicate mountain flower sauce, fresh bread with honey butter. In Sharah's mind, it didn't get any better. The hostess approached and offered her a bottle of wine. Sharah waved it away, "No, thank you. I'm fine as I am."

The woman replied, "Actually, this is from the gentleman in the sitting area."

Sharah leaned back to get a look, then suppressed a groan if not the rolling of her eyes when she saw the older gentleman smiling at her. She said to the hostess, "Open it then. And you may as well bring another glass." He was going to invite himself over anyway.

The woman complied and a moment later the chair across from Sharah was occupied. He was a Breton in his late fifties, but still handsome. He'd probably always been quite the charmer. But it was all lost on her given their history. "Hello, Maric. Still playing the same tricks I see."

The man smiled across the table at her as the hostess poured them both the wine, "There's no trick here. I am a creature of habit, partaking of my two accustomed pleasures: fine wine…and the company of lovely women."

Sharah took a sip from her goblet, feeling the flicker of the cold darkness within her, "Careful what you say to me, Maric. Or I might have to cut your tongue out." She did not like this man. His shadeless business sense had permanently soured their dealings.

Claude Maric chuckled, not realizing how serious she was, "Oh, come now, Sharah. We've been here before. Just two treasure seekers enjoying a drink together."

"That was before you tried to have me killed."

"You're not still angry about that, are you?" he asked. "It was just business."

Sharah watched Maric over her glass as she took another sip and felt the comfortable weight of the dagger on her hip. It would be too simple to place it hilt deep in his chest. But doing so would doubtless get her barred from the Tiber Septim hotel. Sharah ultimately decided against it. As satisfying as it would be to remove the irritation, the food was worth more than the trouble it would take to kill him. And Maric would never know that the cooks at the Tiber Septim Hotel had saved his life.

She set her drink down, "Let's not talk of that. For both our sakes."

Claude Maric was still smiling, "Very well. How have you been? It's been a while since Nenalata."

Not long enough for her. "I've been busy. Have you found another employer?"

Maric replied, "Haven't had to. With all the treasure in that ruin, I've been sitting pretty ever since. Shame about Umbacano, though. You know, his manservant hasn't caught on yet that his master's not coming back."

Lord Umbacano had been an Altmer noble, both rich and an avid collector of Ayleid artifacts. Maric has been among the treasure hunters that supplied him. Sharah, too, for a while. The mer had nearly filled her chest at home with gold. Then the nobleman had attempted to actually unlock the power of the Ayleids in the throne room of one of their ancient city states. Needless to say, it had not gone as planned. Sharah ended up killing him when the Altmer tried to turn his new power on his escorts. She'd taken his Ayleid crown as a keepsake and left the remainder of the ruin and its contents to Maric.

"And I expect you've made no move to inform him of the state of things," she stated, more than asked.

"Neither have you," Maric said.

"I have good reason. I dealt the blow. What's your excuse?"

Maric smiled, "Perhaps I thought the same, and was trying to do a favor for a colleague."

Sharah almost laughed, "More than likely you hope to weasel a bit more coin out of the man before he realizes the collector won't be collecting anymore."

Maric shrugged, "Well, my tastes are costly."

"I noticed. Tamika 415. Not a casual vintage."

He raised his glass, "Only the best for you, my friend."

Sharah refused next glass when the hostess came to refill it and waited until she had walked away before speaking, "Do not mistake my civility for friendship, Maric. I take attempts on my life quite personally. And very few who've tried to kill me still live to speak of it. And, so long as you make no further trouble for me, you will remain among that number." She stood from her seat and dropped the appropriate coin for her meal on the table. "Enjoy the rest of your evening." Then she strolled out of the Hotel.

Damn she didn't like people like him. He'd cordially invited her for a drink when they first met. She'd fallen for his 'we're all Umbacano's playthings' talk. Turned out Maric had used their little chat to steer her to this ruin out in the middle of the wilderness. She'd faced the dangers of the place, retrieved a tablet that the noble wanted, then stepped outside to find Maric and his cronies waiting for her. He demanded the tablet, she refused to give it up and he sicked his men on her. Big mistake. She'd killed them all while Maric took off with his tail between his legs…Well, not literally. He was Breton but that was hardly the point.

Maric would do anything so long as it put coin in his pocket. Made him sound a bit like Maglir. Sharah frowned and shook that thought away. No. She was having such a pleasant vacation. She was not going to let Maric, Maglir and Blackwood ruin her evening.

And it was a lovely evening. Cool but not uncomfortably so. The moons were nearly new and streaks of cloud wafted between the stars and the tiny mortals that stood on the surface of Mundus with their eyes lifted skyward. And there weren't many of those out at this hour. Most of the people had either settled into their homes or the various dining parlors.

Sharah opted to stretch her path homeward through some of the back gardens of the Talos Plaza district. There was no one out to be bothered by it, and the hush of leaves helped take her mind off things.

Then, from out of nowhere, someone lurched into her. Sharah immediately grappled with him, attempting to gain control of his hands and whatever weapon he might be wielding against her. Those efforts ceased when she saw his face, "Gray?" Her eyes went wide when she saw the ragged wound on his neck, "By the Gods! Gray!"

The Gray Fox looked up at her and lost his footing, whispering desperately, "V…vampire…."

Sharah immediately lowered the thief to the ground and stood over him, igniting dual flares in her hands. She looked like something out of Oblivion with fire illuminating her grim expression as she searched the shadows of the garden for Gray's pursuer. She hurled a fireball at a first flickering of shadows she saw. Then another. The third blast illuminated a figure back in the darkness. Sharah focused her onslaught there and was rewarded by an angry hiss before the creature retreated before the flames and back the way it had come.

After a few moments of quiet and stillness, Sharah took a chance and knelt to her friend. He was lying there, barely aware and breathing hard, his wound still bleeding.

She needed to heal him. But she could never manage a convalescence spell without complete concentration. Something she couldn't afford to do out here in the open. The vampire could come back any time. And given who her patient was, anyone coming on them here was bad. She needed to get him somewhere secure. Her home.

Sharah ripped a stretch of cloth off her shirt and wrapped it around his neck to staunch bleeding. Then she put his arm over her shoulder and hauled him up, "Come on, Gray. I'm not strong enough to carry you all the way. You have to use your legs. Come on, Gray. Stay with me. One foot in front of the other. Come on."

He must have heard her because Gray managed to weakly keep his feet under him. It took some doing, but Sharah guided him to the nearest sewer entrance without anyone seeing them. Sharah was familiar enough with the city's underground waterways to know how to get to the grate that let out nearest the Waterfront. Once out on the shore, Sharah walked him in the direction of the docks and heaved him, as gently as possible, into the first fisherman's boat they came across that had been beached on the shore for the night.

Gray faded fast. The moment she laid him down in the boat he just about stopped moving. Sharah loosed the craft onto the water and rowed them across the port, weaving through the ships moored there, and setting them out into open water. Then she circled back toward the Waterfront's shack town, keeping as far out on the water as she could afford to, while aiming for the beach as close to her home as possible.

Gray's lack of movement put more strength into her movements. He might be in shock. He could also be infected from that bite. Healers called it Porphyric Hemophilia. It wreaked havoc on any living body, turning them into vampires in a day. If Gray had it then Sharah needed to get him a curative potion as soon as possible, or the wound would be the least of their worries.

Sharah hit the sand, then leapt out of the boat and pulled it as far as she could on shore. Gray was completely out. She hauled him upright and let him fall over her shoulders, then lifted him out of the boat and started carrying him up the slope to her shack. Sharah grunted beneath the weight. For a thief, Gray was built sturdy. But she was too stubborn to let anything keep her from getting him out of sight. At her back wall, Sharah opened the hidden door and muscled him inside and down into the basement.

She lit a few candles then went to help her friend. She unwrapped the cloth from his neck and put her hands over the wound. Out of sight and with no concern over being interrupted, she was able to knit his flesh together leaving only a little scar. The moment she was done, Sharah went upstairs and rummaged around in her cabinet for one of the curative potions she kept in the back. Thanks goodness she kept a reserve of them for emergencies.

Back downstairs, Sharah tilted Gray's head back and put the vial to his mouth, probably in the same motion he'd done for her when he'd carried her away from Fathis Aren's tower. Then she laid him back down and tried to make him as comfortable as possible. There was nothing to do but wait. Hopefully he woke soon. Now that he was out of danger though, some questions came to mind that she wanted him to answer: what he'd been doing in the Imperial City, why he'd been bitten and pursued by a vampire, why he'd just abandoned her in the wilderness with barely an explanation.

But there was a bit of cleanup she had to do also. Since he'd be out for a while longer, Sharah could do it without Gray disappearing before she got to talk to him. So she went out her front door to knock on her neighbor's.

Armand Christophe answered, "Sharah the Wolf. This is a surprise."

"I need you to do something for me." The sooner the remnants of her trail were taken care of the better. There was no telling what hidden eyes had seen which parts of her rescue.

Armand regarded her, "You don't normally ask for the guild's assistance. But this is not the place to talk. Midnight, at the usual place—"

"It has to be now, Armand," Sharah said abruptly, shoving a foot against the door before he could begin to close it. He noticed the torn bottom of her shirt and the blood on her cuffs. Oh, she'd forgotten to change her shirt before coming out. Regardless, Armand relaxed the door a bit and she continued, "I'm looking after a mutual colleague of ours. The trail of his arrival leads straight to the back of my house. Footprints, a boat, and some blood. I need it all removed. If I could take care of it myself, I would. But I need to remain with him in case his condition worsens. So you need to do it for me. Now."

Armand listened and replied, "Alright. I'll see what I can do."

"Don't see. Do it. There's a trail from the sewers, also, to where I took the boat from. I'd like you go get that one as well." Sharah turned to leave.

He asked after her, "May I ask who this colleague is?"

Sharah turned her head and looked him straight in the eye, "No. But believe me, neither of us wants him found." Then she went back to the house.

Gray was still unconscious when she looked in on him. But his breathing was a bit easier and his face was a little flushed. It meant his body was fighting the disease instead of succumbing to it. She wouldn't know until morning, but he'd probably be ok.

Sharah ducked back upstairs and changed her clothes, tossing the ruined top into the fire and making sure it burned. Then she went downstairs and settled on a crate. She'd stay here and wait for him to come around. A few minutes later she heard some shuffling outside the back entrance. It didn't last long and no one tried to open her door, but Sharah remained tense until everything was once again quiet. Then she went back to watching over Gray. She really hoped he woke soon.

Gray mumbled a little in his sleep, but nothing she could make out. It wasn't until a few hours later that he truly stirred. There was an instant of wide-eyed fear at the strange surroundings until he spotted Sharah. She reassured him, "Take it easy, Gray. Everything's fine. You're safe." Gray relaxed. Then she asked, "How are you feeling?"

Gray's hand leapt to his neck and he sighed on finding unbroken skin. "Where are we?" he asked, looking around.

"My house. Or…under it. How are you feeling?" Sharah asked again.

Gray turned his head back to the ceiling and rubbed his forehead with a groan, "Hot and achy."

She nodded, "Good. It means the potion's working. I can't imagine it keeping you out of commission more than a day."

Gray groaned again as he sat up, "Is it daylight yet?"

Sharah shook her head, "No, we have a few more hours until Azura plants her fruit." Gray made to stand and Sharah darted forward to restrain him. "Whoa, what do you think you're doing?"

"There's still time. I have to go now, while there's still time…"

"Time for what," she demanded, not letting him up.

"To get what I went for. I just have to…Let go of me…"

Sharah didn't. "You're in no condition to go anywhere."

He strained weakly against her hold, "That's nonsense."

"Oh? I'm not even pushing that hard, Gray. You're not going anywhere. Just tell me the target. I'll take care of it. Or…find someone else to."

Gray shook his head, still struggling, "No. The mark's a vampire…Can't let anyone else do it…"

"The vampire who was chasing you? The one that bit you?"

He nodded, "I think so."

Sharah leaned harder on him, "Then you're definitely not going. Not only are you too weak for any heist, but that vampire will know the instant you're within two hundred feet. He's had a taste of you. He'll be able to sense you until you're blood's out of his system. And that's three days minimum."

Gray stopped moving, and he got that look like he was trying to puzzle something out. And unsuccessfully at that, "I'll…think of something."

She glared down at him, "The hell you will. Gray, you're body's fighting off vampirism. I don't even know how much blood you've lost tonight. And you're not thinking straight. You're not leaving this basement, even if I have to sit on your chest until midnight tomorrow." She gave him a firm shove to make her point, not letting up on her glare either.

Gray stopped struggling and glared right back, "I am the Gray Fox. I can do anything. And the best time to hit a mark is when he thinks he's gotten off."

Sharah chuckled harshly, "I remember that lesson." Her humor sputtered out. "You're starting to believe your own hype, Gray. Remember that one: you start believing your own rumors and they'll hang you. You are in no condition to go up against a vampire who will know you're coming and be able to pick out exactly where you are…but I can. Tell me the mark and the target, Gray. You're right about hitting the mark now. But you're not doing it."

The Fox's eyes widened an instant, then fell back into the glare, "You are no longer my apprentice."

"Apprentice? Of course not. No, no, I'm just a thief looking for a score. So are you going to tell me where I'm going, or are we going to sit here all day making angry eyes at each other?"

Gray growled and struggled again. But she was stronger than she looked, even if he was sturdy. He glared angrily at her for a while, then dropped his eyes and relaxed back, defeated. "The Imbel Manor. Owned by Earl Jakben Imbel. He's the only descendent of Springheel Jak, a famous thief from 300 years ago. I need Jak's boots. I hoped the Earl would assist me in finding the thief's tomb. The story is that Springheel Jak was buried with his boots on."

"Alright then," Sharah said, relaxing her hold on him, "So are you going to stay here and rest? Or do I really have to stay here and watch you?"

The master-thief adjusted his head on the pillow, "No…I'll stay." Sharah was glad that she could still tell when Gray was being sincere.

She sat up and then stood, "Good. There's water in the jug and food in the cupboard if you need it. Rest, and let the potion do its work."

Upstairs, in private, Sharah changed into her black garb and finally donned her Shadow's mask. She put her elven dagger on her hip, donned a particular amulet beneath her shirt, and tucked a few more of her enchanted collection in her pocket. Then she went back downstairs, relieved to see that Gray hadn't made a move to leave, and exited through her back entrance.

Her steps on the sand were light as she darted down to the water's edge. Light enough, in fact, that when Sharah stepped out onto the water she didn't even slip beneath the surface. And under her shirt, the amulet began to warm as the enchantment took effect. Water walking, no need for a boat this time. Sharah ran on the surface of the water all the way around the Waterfront back toward the docks, retracing the path she'd taken with the boat.

When Sharah got nearer to the main shore, she spotted a boat shifting on the beach. The one she'd taken, now being dragged back to its place by a grumbling Bosmer. The woman yanked the boat back up into what had remained of its nest in the sand. It was Carwen, one of Methredhel's roommates and best friends. And a member of the Thieves Guild.

She finished her task as Sharah drew near. The Bosmer looked up and the two of them met each other's eyes. Carwen froze in shock and blinked, "The Shadow!" Sharah grinned, winked, then darted up the shore and vanished into the sewers. An instant later, when the ripples had faded, there was not a bit of evidence of her passing.

Again, Sharah retraced her steps. The only house with a large enough sewer entrance to fit a body was Dynari's. So she'd have to get into Imbel's Manor from the street. Before coming back out of the outside sewer grate, Sharah slipped on the Ring of Khajiiti, just to be safe. Avoiding the lanterns, Sharah slipped up the street and toward the manor in question. Hell, she'd passed the thing when she headed home. The question that worried her was how a vampire was involved in the place. Something to be wary of while she was snooping.

There were no light on inside, so Sharah went for the door. A whirling of the Skeleton Key and she was inside. After she made sure there was no one in sight, Sharah whispered her spell to detect life. One life force upstairs, and another higher up than that. Sharah had no idea who each was, if one was a vampire or what, but she went for the stairs anyway. If she was going to learn about the Imbel's burial grounds, it would be easier from a person than searching through every book and record in the place. Who was to say they'd even bother preserving a family member who was a thief anyway. Nobles tended to be snooty like that.

The first life force was a manservant, asleep in his bed. The second was in some high room upstairs from what looked like the master's private chamber. Umbacano had had one like it where he stored his collections and received his favored treasure hunters. Upstairs was probably his bedchamber. Hopefully this man wasn't a heavy sleeper.

Sharah unlocked the door silently and opened it just enough to enter. The master of the house was not in bed. He was sitting at his desk, sipping a glass of wine. Sharah had only just closed the door when the man's head came up and he turned around. The man spotted her and leapt to his feet, "Oh Gods! Intruder! Help!"

Sharah dashed the length of the room, whipping her dagger from its sheath and slammed him into the wall, "Shut up." She hadn't made a sound. How had he known she was there? "Keep quiet, and we'll both walk away from this in one piece."

He shook under her arm, "Please, don't hurt me. Take everything, just spare me!"

Sharah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. And she'd thought Jiv was a coward. Then she looked down and found her dagger resting against his throat. Hm…how had that gotten there? Must have been force of habit. She lowered the blade but kept a fisted grip on the collar of his fine clothes, "Earl Jakben Imbel, I presume. You stay calm, and I won't hurt you. I just want some information. You answer my questions and I'll leave you be. Simple as that."

The Earl Jakben nodded rapidly, "Yes, yes. Whatever you want."

"Good. I'd like to know where you bury your dead." He froze, as though thinking she wanted to add him to the pile of his ancestors. She groaned, "I'm looking for the tomb of one of your ancestors. Certainly a family as esteemed as yours does not just drop them in any old graveyard."

The shaking of the Earl's head could barely be discerned from the quivering of his body, "N-n-no. We-we've a family tomb."

"Where is it? I'd like to pay my respects." And borrow some footwear.

"Be-beneath the house. I don't go down there. They give me the creeps."

'I'll bet,' she thought. Out loud, Sharah said, "Now, I'd like to know who all you have buried down there. One in particular. Might have been known for jumping or acrobatics, or having a spring in his heels."

He raised his eyes quickly to look straight at her. The moment she saw the red around his irises, Sharah's dagger was at his throat again. Her voice got very low, soft, and threatening, "You look well fed tonight. Who'd you drink from this time, vampire?" Her dagger's hot enchantment could doubtless be felt across his skin, and she kept it set so that she could jam it in his neck at the slightest hint of aggression.

Aggression that didn't come. Earl Jakben saw the change in her and went completely weak at the knees, "Oh, please no. Please. No. I beg you. Please…" Her hold on his collar was actually all that was holding up as the vampiric Earl, as he started weeping right there in front of her. What in Oblivion…? "Please…I don't drink human blood. I hate it. I hate it all. I feed off animals. Please, don't kill me. Please…" He descended into sobs again.

Sharah gave him a hard shake, keeping the dagger appropriately placed, "Keep quiet. A friend of mine got attacked tonight. Who else but you could have ripped his throat open?"

Earl Jakben shuddered, "Not me. My uncle. He…he's the patriarch of the family. Lives down in the crypts. I-I'm just the public face."

She growled, "And you were going to send me down there to get my face chewed off. Is that it?"

He shook his head, "No. He's out hunting the thief. I don't know when he'll be back. But he's not there now, I swear!"

Sharah looked at him intently, searching for some sign of a lie. But he was so absolutely distraught it was hard to tell anything beyond the fear. She pulled him upright and then back toward the trapdoor, "Well, that's good to hear. How about you be the gentleman and escort me down to your crypt."

The earl dug his heels in, "N-no, you can't. I...I hate it down there."

"Then we'll have to make it quick. You'll show me the tomb of Springheel Jak, I'll get what I came for, and we never need see each other again. But keep in mind, you make one false move and I'll put this dagger between your ribs and let you burn from the inside out."

It was all she needed to say. The Earl Jakben walked her downstairs with Sharah directly behind him, hand on his collar and dagger point against his back hard enough that he could feel it. In the basement, at the door to the crypt, it took several minutes of fumbling with the keys before he got the door open. Sharah half thought he was stalling, hoping for his uncle to come back and tear her throat out.

Once inside and down a passage, she heard footsteps coming toward them. Sharah came in close and dug the point in harshly as a couple vampires came trotting up from the crypt. So their nest was down here, too. "You sure you weren't sending me into a trap?" she growled.

"Earl Jak—" The vampires spotted her and bared their teeth with a hiss.

Sharah gave the dagger another jab, "You may just be the public face, but you'd better convince them to back off or I'll take you out before they can make a move. You're not the first undercover vampire I've killed. You're not even the first in this city."

Earl Jakben's shudders ceased as the wheels in his head turned, "…You killed Seridur…"

She tucked the point against his back, "That I did. And his entire nest too. So unless you and yours want to follow suit, I'd get them to back off. I'm just here for a pair of boots." Sharah was walking into a vampire nest…willingly and in the open…She was being superbly stupid right now, but there really wasn't any way of going back. Besides, she'd killed vampires before. And Gray said he needed those boots.

Jakben went back to shuddering, "Back away. I-I don't want to die."

Wow. For a noble and a vampire, he was pathetic. But the two below did take some slow steps backwards. "They seem to like you. Good thing. Let's hope it's enough to get us back upstairs." Only when the vampires were a good distance away before she let Jakben walk them further into the crypt and into the main room. There were coffins along the wall and three passages scattered along the walls.

Another two vampires came out of one and hissed until Jakben waved them off. She held him tight, the situation getting more dangerous with every passing moment. Sharah didn't really know how many vampires she could take in the open. Damn! If she got out of this, Sharah was never doing it again. Never! "Do I need to explain how a hostage shield works? They all need to be on one side of the room before we go through."

The vampires moved slowly to comply, eyeing her like a pack of hungry wolves. Sharah and the Earl crossed the room with Jakben ever between her and the teeth. They walked into a single room beyond the main one where there stood a single elegant stone coffin. She backed against the wall, pulling him with her, "Tell them to open it."

Again, a painfully slow progression. And every moment, Sharah was afraid they might decide their feeble public face was no longer worth the trouble to protect. From where she stood, Sharah couldn't see inside until the vampires moved away and she pushed her captive forward to get a look inside. It was empty. Empty? Had he taken her to the wrong coffin? Or perhaps he just wasn't dead. He could be one of the vampires. Three hundred years old…he had to pretty powerful. The Earl's uncle or…

Sharah stiffened in realization, then sighed, "Earl Jakben…Jak.

She felt him stop shaking. Then he turned, faster than she could see and the dagger was knocked from her hand. Then it was her turn to be slammed against the wall by a cold hand around her throat. Her head hit the stone so hard that she saw stars, but Sharah could see Earl Jakben's expression, now calm and smug. "You are foolish, mortal. You truly took me for some effete noble? Even failed to recognize my name. I will admit, I was surprised to find someone seeking Springheel Jak after all these years. But you have provided an interesting diversion."

Sharah glared at him. She wasn't scared. She was furious. Furious at the damn vampire who was threatening her, the ones standing back watching with too much glee. But mostly at herself for being such an idiot. What possessed her to walk in here with no plan, no back up, and no damned clue!? She should know better. She did know better!

Sharah felt heat in her palm as her anger ignited her magicka into flame. She grabbed for him, hoping to burn him enough that he let her loose. Then she could get her dagger and put a serious hurting on all of them. Jakben saw her attempt and knocked her head against the wall, hard. Sharah's vision darkened for an instant and her concentration vanished as she went almost limp on impact.

Jakben smiled, clearly at ease enough to gloat. A trait she could have taken advantage of if her head had not struck the wall so hard. She probably had a small concussion. Dammit! "I brought you down here to kill you. Now, I think I will keep you alive. It seems you have already done me a service. Seridur and I were rivals. With his removal, I have been free to claim it all and become the Imperial City's Lord of Blood." He took a moment to look her over, "You have proven yourself capable, if rash to step into a vampire nest in seeking your goal." He leaned in and inhaled, "And you smell overtly of blood. More so than the usual cattle. Yes, I think you will make a good servant. After you have been turned…and broken."

Springheel Jak grinned and she saw his fangs grow long while he held down her clumsy struggles with his superior strength and height. Something caught his attention, but he didn't loosen his grip enough for her to get free. Jakben turned his head back to his lessers, "The thief has returned. You three, go up and drain him dry." The three took off running and Jakben turned back to her, "All the worse for you that we must finish this quickly. I normally prefer to savor my meals." He tore her collar open, exposing her neck and most of her shoulder. The vampire arced her head to one side and buried his fangs in her neck.

Sharah jerked at the sting of the bite and again tried to fight herself free. But nothing she did worked. He was too strong, and before long she got lightheaded as he drew deeply from where he'd bitten her, his tongue working against the wounds to make sure the infection took. Sharah's struggles got weaker. She thought she'd pass out before he was through. Just short, actually. The edges of her vision were going black when he let go and licked the bite clean. The vampire lifted her up and dropped her in the empty coffin. Then the world went dark as the top slid closed over her. But Sharah still heard Jakben say, "I will return when you're transition is complete. Then we'll see just how brave you are."

There was nothing to do but lay there for a moment until the footsteps faded. Sharah was weakened and her body was equilibrating to the loss of blood, and she was still woozy from the hard blow to her head. Damn. The skin around the bite felt odd, something between a tingle and an itch. The vampirism taking hold. Damn! And Gray was here? He was going to get killed. Jakben would scent him out anywhere. DAMN!

And what if these bastards got ahold of the Cowl? Her head felt light again as she paled. The guild wouldn't know the difference between the Gray Foxes. Not with that curse. Jakben would have the entire Thieves Guild as willing cattle at his fingertips. Damn, damn, DAMN!

Sharah forced herself to breathe and calm down. She had to get out of here. Sharah squeezed her hands into fists a few times and wiggled her toes, trying to get some feeling of strength back. No time for fear or frustration. Only what came next. Sharah lifted her hands up to the top of the coffin. With her back at the bottom, her fingertips just touched it. Not enough leverage to lift. Her legs were another story. Sharah wiggled herself into the corner and put her heels against the top and pushed. Too heavy to push off. If she could just get it off the contact and slide it sideways. Sharah tried again. The top shifted slightly and she pushed harder, angling it sideways. The heavy top slid until the barest sliver of light peaked inside…then she passed out.

When Sharah next came awake the unpleasant sensation had spread up her neck and down over half her collarbone. She groaned and put her feet against the top again and was about to shove again when she heard some shuffling. Sharah froze, praying they didn't see the slightly shifted lid.

More shuffling, then a whispered voice, "Oh, no…"

Her heart soared, "Gray?"

He was at the coffin in an instant, "Sharah? Oh, sweet Night Lady. Are you alright?"

"Relatively. Help me get this top off." She braced her legs again, and felt the lid move more easily with his assistance. Suddenly the lid stuck fast, and Sharah heard a hiss. She stiffened, "Gray?!"

She leaned up and looked through the opening. Gray was struggling with a vampire against the other end of the coffin. Not Jakben, but one of his cronies. And the vampire was stronger. Sharah saw the hilt of her dagger just visible to the side. "Gray! My dagger! Use my dagger!"

He heard her and freed a hand to snatch it up, then jabbed the point into the vampire's shoulder. It was sharp and pierced the flesh easily even without an experienced hand behind it. The creature roared, but did not let go even though the strike had been coupled by an excruciating heat. "Again, Gray! Again!" Gray acted, not by his own volition, but by blind desperate obedience. He struck again and again, each time she demanded it, the dagger's enchantment doing the rest. It must have been days since the vampire last fed, as he took to the onslaught like a worm on a hot sidewalk. Only Gray's desperate white knuckled grip on his cloths kept them together. It wasn't long. Beneath the thief's almost desperate barrage the vampire soon bared his teeth in a soundless roar, then collapsed backwards where he shriveled to dust and bone.

Gray leaned there, gasping, clutching the dagger and staring down at what he'd done. Sharah watched him breathe and her heart seized in sad realization. Oh, Arkay…he'd never killed before. Sharah set her jaw and steeled herself, saying firmly, "Gray. Help me get this lid off. Turn around and push." She couldn't let him stand there, traumatized. They had to get out. She'd have to think for the both of them until he came out of it. Gray moved woodenly, still following the bidding of her voice, even if it was almost in a trance. With his assistance they got the lid open just wide enough that she could slip through. Thank the Nine she was slight of size and they didn't have to push it far.

Sharah pulled herself out and lifted Gray's head in her hands so he was looking straight at her. His eyes were dull as the kill had brought his thoughts to a halt. Sharah swayed a little as she kept looking at him. She wasn't in good shape but Sharah knew he needed her strength. "Put it away, Gray. Put it all away until we're out of here." She reached down and pulled the dagger from his hand and slipped it into her sheath.

Sharah didn't know who was supporting who more as they stepped over the ash pile and made their way toward the cavern exit. "The Earl is Springheel Jak," she said, speaking aloud as she thought to what was ahead, "He has to know where you are. Took a lot out of me, so he'll sense me too. I don't think we'll get out of here without a fight." Gray was still numb from his first kill, and damn it all that she was weak as a lamb. Fight or not, it would be a miracle if they got out of here.

Gray pulled himself out of his distress enough to say, "We…have some time there. His men are outside looking for me. And I locked Jakben in a closet." Sharah missed a step when she up and stared at him. Was he serious? Gray didn't smile as he said, "Don't ask me how I did it. Let's just…get out of here."

The door ahead of them opened and the Earl Jakben stood looking down at the pair, his expression no longer smug but deeply annoyed, "You've caused me quite enough trouble, thief. I'll take my property back from you now."

Earl Jakben looked at the Gray Fox when he said it…he looked at the Gray Fox as though he were the only person in the room. He didn't recognize Sharah's presence at all, like she was…Sharah's lip twisted up into a snarl. Property? His property? He was referring to her…as his property? There were a few terms that set Sharah on a direct path to nasty. Very few. But when they came up…it was difficult for her think straight. And it seemed that 'property' had just taken its place at the top of that list.

Sharah didn't even get a straight thought through her head before the dagger at her waist was flying through the air. Her rage roiled through her, igniting the magicka in her veins like it was lamp oil. An ignition that not only lit her hand into a torch, but sparked the enchantment in the dagger the moment her fingers touched, turning it into no mere projectile but a flaming bolt of sharpened steel whirling straight toward the target of her rage. And beneath the inferno in her mind and veins that spot of cold and dark flickered.

Either the result of her practice or dumb luck, the dagger's point struck the vampire dead in the chest and went hilt deep. He was dead, even if he was still standing. Sharah could almost see the heat roasting his innards right within his chest. No one lived through a shot like that. Not even a three hundred year old vampire. The Earl reached for the hilt, some last instinctive effort to cling to life. But Sharah wouldn't have it. Too much rage. And no little desire to see him suffer to the last. Sharah tossed out her hand and the fire already licking there jumped the distance and ignited the vampire's skin. Jakben screamed and collapsed, writhing on the ground as he was burned inside and out.

Sharah watched grimly, her anger fading slowly with the life to where she actually noticed the dumbfounded Gray beside her. Her kill had been gratifying but…right, they needed to get out of here. Sharah urged him forward toward the burning body that was even now dissolving into the dry remnants of its form. When she was close enough, Sharah reached down and plucked her dagger out of the ribcage and charred garments. But the boots had remained intact. And she could almost smell the enchantment on them. Doubtless the reason Gray needed the things for what he was planning. But Sharah's experience told her if she knelt down to retrieve them, she might not have the strength to get up.

Sharah nudged Gray toward the body's feet while she leaned against the wall, "Get the boots." Gray looked back at her, alarm breaking through his numb. Sharah just about snarled at him, "We've been through all this. We are not just going to leave them there. Get the damn boots!"

Gray followed her bidding, his mind already geared toward it, and worked the boots free of the bones and dust while Sharah watched the basement for signs of the others. He handled the leathers carefully and draped their length over his belt before coming back to help support her up out of the basement. The thief was getting a hold of himself, more the old Gray Fox once that they were away from burning bodies and on the escape.

Upstairs, she and Gray went for a back window. Sharah relied on his enchanted sight through the cowl to tell them where the safest exit was while she kept her guard up for any threats. Gray held his position, looked intently for a moment, waiting for something to move on, then opened the window and helped her through. Someone had delivered on that miracle. They were out.

**Yay! The Fox is back...for a bit. Let me know what you think. And don't forget about the poll.**

**Oh, and one more thing...Really? I make mention that ch 8 needed a rewrite and half my readers go back to check. Really? Really?! I don't know if you're loyal readers or gluttons for punishment (smacks forehead with palm)**.


	19. Hiding in Truth & Living in Contentment

**HA! I did find time! In part because I accepted that this chapter would be shorter. Truth was, after I shifted this last Gray Fox section I won't know how much is going in any one chapter anymore. So Lucien will be in Ch 22.**

**Guest: I do intend to do a Skyrim tale...just as soon as I play the game through...like three times. But it won't be for a while because I can't afford a second obsession in my life. I'll finish this story first, then allow Skyrim to take over my life. If you're still reading at that point, may the Nine bless your little heart!**

**Alright. FORWARD!**

For the second time that night, Sharah and the Gray Fox made their way into the Imperial City sewers. And for the second time, they limped and shuffled through the underground waterways and out onto the Waterfront. And for the second time, the same boat was stolen from its resting place and put out onto the water bearing two thieves.

Although this time, Gray took the oars and allowed Sharah to loll at the prow where she rested and cast restoration into her neck and throbbing head. The remnants of her head trauma made it difficult to direct her magika and she kept stumbling over the words. She no longer had rage to give her strength or that inner shroud to give her focus. But by the time they were beached down from her shack, Sharah's head was much better and all her superficial wounds were gone.

The unpleasant sensations under her skin, however, were still spreading. She could actually feel the vampirism worming its way deeper into her body. She needed to get to her cupboard first when they were inside. Sharah and Gray bore each other's weight up to the back entrance, down into the basement and then back up into the main house. Sharah disentangled their limbs and fumbled around in the cupboard for her potion while Gray sank into a chair. She pulled out the bottle she wanted and down the contents before following suit.

"Well, that was an eventful evening," she said, letting the empty bottle roll out of her hand and onto the table. Eventful? Gray shows up back in her life and Sharah nearly ended up being an undead servant for the rest of her days. She needed another vacation.

It was hard to tell which one of them had it worse, though. Both bitten, both now fighting off the remnants of vampirism. Sharah's still throbbing head and weakness from blood loss were hard to compare to the psychological effects of Gray's first kill.

The fire held Gray's attention like he'd been turned to stone. She let the silence stretch out, soaking in the calm of the little warmly-lit room. She relaxed enough to consider braving the length of the shack to reach her bed. Sharah was actually startled when Gray spoke, "You can't do that again."

Sharah nodded grimly, "I know. Lesson learned." A little growl fluttered in her throat, "Vampires die on sight. No exceptions."

Gray was on his feet so fast that she jumped and he knocked over his chair, "That's not what I meant! You can't do that again. Not ever!"

"Gray?" What in Oblivion was he talking about if not the way she handled the vampires? He looked like he was about to have a fit. "Gray, calm down. Everything's fine. We've both alive, the vampire's dead, we have the boots—"

"Forget the boots!" He grabbed at the footwear on his belt. His fingers couldn't manage to get them loose so he went for the buckle and just about got tangled in the leather strap as he whipped it off himself. Gray's eyes bulged as he snatched the fallen boots and poised to hurl them into the fireplace.

Sharah had been tense though the entire display and as his arm rose to destroy their prize she leapt for it, taking them both to the floor with a crash that upset plenty of furniture. They rolled over the floor until Sharah managed to get on top of him. She straddled his chest, pinning both his arms under her legs while his legs thrashed around behind her. Sharah snatched the boots from his grasp and tossed them out of reach. "Gray, what's the matter with you?"

His fevered expression degraded into a twist of turmoil and pain. "I can't do it. None of it matters anymore because I can't do it. You have to stop. I can't do it. I can't…"

Sharah was afraid killing the vampire had broken something in him. She eased off him and touched his face, hoping he could feel it through the cowl. "Gray," she whispered, keeping her voice calm and soft, "What can't you do? Talk to me. What can't you do?"

The thief looked up at her through desperate eyes, "I can't steal the scroll. I…I can't. I'm lost forever. And you…almost died…for nothing…All for nothing."

She cupped his face between her hands to keep him looking at her, "What scroll? And why can't you steal it? Talk to me, Gray."

His face took on this eerie calm even though the tears still flowed, "The Elder scroll. The one that will lift my curse. Savilla's stone showed me what I would need to get to it. The arrow…and the boots. But…I can't do it. I'm not thief enough."

Sharah tried to reassure him, "You're the Gray Fox. Of course you're thief enough. Who could be more thief than you?"

Gray shook his head between her palms, "I'm not a Gray Fox. I'm just cursed. I got the cowl by bad luck. Without it…I couldn't steal a sweetroll from a child…" He looked back up at her, "I'm not strong. I'm not clever. I can steal because of the cowl, but I was never even a real thief. Just…playing at it all. Before…before the curse…"

The man paused to breathe, and a shudder passing through his frame. An odd expression passed over his eyes when he looked back at her, then he said, "I was a noble from a lesser house. I joined the guild as a youth because…I thought it'd be fun. I was never really a part of it. A walk on the wild side, rubbing elbows with pickpockets and smugglers in the dead of night when I could get away from home. It was more exciting than court life. But the thieving was just for fun. I traded court secrets and gossip for membership. But half what I fenced was from my own pockets, or my family's jewels. Then I got married. Had a family. My wife was the strong one. She was the one who gave orders and did her duty…I was just the spoiled rich man, still playing at being a thief when I got bored."

The next memory pained him, "He died in front of me. In the smuggler's cave beneath the castle. He'd…tried to steal something from someone…I don't know. But they shot him and he fell in the ocean…washed up in the cave, barely alive. The other thief…the fence… he went for help and I stayed with him. He didn't make it. He just died there in front of me. And I…" Gray brought a hand up to cover his face, ashamed to death of himself, "I took it off him. I was curious. I just wanted to feel what it was like to wear it, then I was going to put it back and wait for them to come…I just wanted to feel what it was like…so stupid…They came, alright. Thought I was him. Called him just some poor thief. Said he wouldn't have gotten shot if I'd been with him."

Sharah's brow raised in realization, "The last Gray Fox."

Gray nodded, "I was so ashamed and confused. I took off the cowl, tried to explain I was just curious…They didn't even know me. We'd lived in the same castle for years and the fence didn't know me."

He tried to swallow the sob that welled up, "I tried to go home. But…nothing. No one knew me. Guards stopped me seeing my children. My wife didn't recognize me. I tried to tell her. I stood right in front of her…tried to tell her I was right in front of her. She just looked at me, confused." Gray had gone limp, recounting his past like it was killing him over again and he didn't care to save himself, "They talked about the missing count. Even straight to me. I was left on my own for the first time. Had to steal just to eat. Worse than a beggar. But it was easy to steal when no one could really notice you. And when I finally put the cowl back on…It was all the thrill I'd wanted. It would have been fun…but my wife and my children…their faces when they looked at me…"

Sharah took his hand and squeezed it, "Gray—"

He wrenched away, "Don't call me that! It's not my name!"

She reached for him again, gripping his wrist, "Look at me."

He did. "I'm going to get you killed," he whispered, "My best friend…and I've sent you to your death twice. I can't do it again. I couldn't live with myself if you died because of me…" His eyes dropped away again.

The man's choice of words brought her up short but Sharah muscled back to her sense of strength. "Look. At. Me," she demanded. It took him longer to obey this time, but ultimately their eyes met again. Sharah said, "Let's get one thing straight first: you don't send me anywhere. You never have. I go where I want to. Even when I was your apprentice. Tonight, I wanted to help you. And you couldn't have stopped me from doing it. Tell me I'm wrong about that." Gray didn't say a thing, so she continued, "If anything does happen to me, it'll be my own damned fault, not yours.

"And a second thing: you saved my life. Twice. If you hadn't been outside Aren's tower that night, he would have had me eaten. And if you hadn't come after me tonight…which, I might add, was an incredibly stupid thing to do…I would be waiting for that Earl to come back and turn me into some kind of…I don't know, vampiric maid or something. You were there when I needed you and that's nothing to be ashamed of."

Sharah sat back and looked into the fire, "You're my friend, too. Maybe you're out of practice having them, but I'm going to be here as long as you need me. No matter what. Come guards, vampires or daedra."

The shack fell silent except for the crackle of the fire. Gray finally whispered, "I don't deserve a friend like you."

"Well, that's the beauty of it. Good friends don't have to be earned." She looked back at him, "And you are the Gray Fox. For better or worse. At least until the curse is broken." Sharah brought her legs in and crossed them, "So, if you're done, let's talk about the scroll."

Gray rolled away from her and started getting shakily to his feet. He took a seat in a chair and got that odd look on his face before he began to speak, "The Elder Scrolls are kept in the Imperial Library in White Gold tower. Somewhere at the top. Among the scrolls is one that describes the prophesy of the theft of Nocturnal's Cowl. I discovered it when I was seeking a cure. When the prophesy came to pass, it was magically inscribed upon the scroll, including the name of the thief…who became the first Gray Fox."

The usual glimmer of hope in his eyes was absent as Gray continued, "The scrolls exist beyond time, beyond the Divines and beyond Daedra. At least that's what I've heard. Anything written on them is infallible and nothing, magic or otherwise, can affect it. I thought if I could openly declare from the Elder Scroll a name that was hidden by Nocturnal's cowl, one of those the curse has wiped from history, it might break the curse entirely and free me."

Sharah listened carefully. He seemed awfully calm…and forthcoming. "So how do we get it?"

"We can't," he said flatly, "The White Gold Tower is a fortress. It is made to defend council members, dangerous artifacts, the emperor and his line. The Elder scrolls are precious. More precious than anything, save those of the royal family. Over a hundred guards stand between the tower's entrance and the library. Not to mention any number of locked doors, enchantments, battlemages, the Blades, and the Moth Priests themselves who doubtless dwell within reach of their treasures and are ever vigilant."

"But there is a way," Sharah pressed, "You used Savilla's stone and it told you to get the boots and that arrow. That means there's a way in that uses them. So it can be done."

The Gray Fox looked up at her and said abruptly, "You are the finest thief I have ever been privileged to know. And an even better friend. I don't know how I'll get on without you."

Sharah sat straight. Where had that come from? "Gray?"

He continued, "And I didn't mean all that in the forest. I just didn't want to put you in danger. But clearly I can't help that. I am sorry I was harsh with you. But I do want you to meet someone and love and have children and…be happy."

What in Oblivion was he…? Sharah's eyes went wide. "Oh, Gods…," she whispered.

Gray sighed, "It's alright. It's won't be your fault. It's better this way."

She went tense and glared accusingly at him, "You set your curse on me! How is that better than anything?!" He'd shared everything: his past, his plans for the curse. All so that the curse would wipe her mind. "Why, Gray?"

"So I can disappear without a trace. I decided I would on our way here in the boat. I didn't mean to get so…worked up. You won't give up. I know you won't. You never do, even when you should. So, I had to do this. Otherwise you'd try for the tower on your own."

"You're damn right I would." How could he do this? He'd made this big deal about living without friends, about how much she meant to him. This was worse than just walking away. He was erasing himself completely. "What are you going to do now?" she demanded, "Find some cave to hide in? Never speak to anyone again? What about your family? What about breaking your curse? How can you just walk away from all that?"

Gray said, "They are better off without me. And it's been ten years. I doubt they've held out hope I'll come back. And now? I'll hide the cowl somewhere, then go somewhere else to live. Away from…here. The curse will die with me." He looked at her sadly, "You're my only loose end, really. You're the only one who ever remembered."

"And how do you know I won't remember this?" If Sharah could stand she would be prowling the shack like her namesake. With her weakness though, all her anxiety was caught in the rapid tapping of her heel on the stone floor.

He shook his head, "You won't. I've told you everything. More than anyone else. I know the curse will take your memories. I hope it's all of them so you won't feel driven to even try and find me."

Sharah rubbed her forehead, "Gray, you are ten different kinds of idiot." She turned on him, "Swear you won't leave until you're sure. Swear to me you won't leave and do anything stupid until you're sure I don't remember."

He nodded slowly and sadly, "It won't be immediate. I have to make some arrangements. Savilla's stone, for one. And the arrow of Extrication. And these boots."

"And another thing. If I remember—"

"You won't."

"If I do, I want you to swear you'll help me steal that scroll." Sharah couldn't just give up. It went against the grain for her.

"Sharah—"

"Swear it!" she snapped.

The Fox sighed. "I swear," he said in the tone of one humoring a demanding child. "But you won't. I've tried it all, Sharah. It won't matter what you do."

Sharah set her jaw and sat back against her bed with a huff. She would remember. She'd find a way. Gray was not going through what she went through. His family was lost but not gone. All this time he'd had hope that he might return to them. But living with the loss for the rest of his life…She wasn't going to let it happen. Not a chance. She'd find a way to remember. And she would get him back to his family. There was no way she was going to let him suffer like she'd suffered. Even if she had to fight a Daedric curse to do it.

XXX

"You alright, Wolf?"

Sharah glanced up at Oreyn, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine. Really." Gray Fox. Elder Scroll. Gray Fox. Elder Scroll. She ran through everything the Fox had told her several times a day. She had to remember, she'd promised. "So, you said there was a contract."

The Dunmer grunted an affirmative, "High profile from Bruma. The countess wants a bodyguard for her sister. And I mean close. Everywhere she goes. You'll be sleeping in the castle, probably on a pallet in the woman's chamber. She won't go anywhere without you, and you won't be leaving her for any reason. And there's no time limit on this one. I can't say I like having you tied down somewhere for an indefinite period. But I can't blame her since…Wolf!"

"What? What? I'm listening." Gray Fox. Elder Scroll.

Oreyn drummed his fingers on the guildmaster's desk, the ring of Azani Blackheart glinting with every motion. She didn't think the man had taken it off since Atatar. Sharah only briefly wondered how Blackwood was being affected by the rumors circulating about their dealings with Blackheart. Oreyn glared, "If you can't stay focused, I'll put someone else on this. The Dark Brotherhood needs to be taken seriously."

Sharah started, "The Dark Brotherhood?" The assassin group?

Oreyn grunted again. "So I have your attention now? Good. Yes. There is a Dark Brotherhood contract on the head of Marisia Carvain, Narina Carvain's sister. They caught the bastard who wanted it done, but he'd already paid and set the thing up. The countess wants a bodyguard for her sister until the threat passes. And no one has any idea when that will be." He glared at her, "If you're not up to this, I'll put someone else on it."

Sharah hesitated. The universe was working against her. She'd have to focus entirely on this contract. She'd only heard rumors and stories, but the Dark Brotherhood assassins were no joke. Sharah would have to be on alert every moment of every day. She couldn't spare the focus to keep the Gray Fox in her mind. But she liked the Countess. In the brief time they'd spent together they'd made a connection. Sharah couldn't let her sister be killed by some assassin. And, while it felt prideful, Sharah couldn't think of anyone in the guild she'd hand this job to in her place.

Sharah sighed. Sorry, Gray. "I'll do it. I won't let the woman out of my sight. And I won't let anyone harm her.

"You sure?" Oreyn asked, "You've been distracted since you got back."

"I know. I've just been trying to remember something. But…this is more important. I'll keep her safe. I promise."

The strength of her response convinced him, "Alright then. You need to leave immediately. I'll send a messenger hawk that you're on your way. Keep in mind, Marisia Carvain's been confined until you arrive. I suggest you hurry, before she gets testy. Believe me, the last thing you want to do is irritate the noble you're supposed to protect. And keep your guard up."

"I will," Sharah said, tossing him a salute.

Oreyn grunted again, "Next time you'll get a week and no more. Too much vacation is clearly bad for you." She managed a little smile before turning for the stairs. "Oh, one last thing, Wolf," Oreyn said after her. "When you get to Bruma, report to Alderil first. He said they were holding something for you."

Sharah nodded over her shoulder and went downstairs to her bunk. She went through the motions of packing, but her mind was elsewhere. She felt wretched. Like she was betraying Gray. What was worse was that she really couldn't seem to help it. Gray had left her shack as soon as he was strong enough. She'd tried writing down everything he'd told her. But even though Sharah knew exactly what she wanted to write, the ink just came out wrong so that nothing on the page made any sense. None of it did. How could she remember but not be able to transcribe it? If only she knew how she'd managed to retain her memories in the first place.

And there was nothing she had to remind her of the time they'd spent together. When Sharah was unpacking back in the Chorrol Guildhall, she couldn't find her mask. Damn the man! Gray had taken her mask, robbing her of the one tangible thing that linked her to her time as his Shadow. Maybe she could use her scars, though. The one around her ankle, for one. Sharah actually regretted that she'd healed her neck so seamlessly.

Sharah was approached by both Lashana and Cargas while she was packing her things. She heard them standing awkwardly behind her, but she didn't turn around. Sharah had too much on her plate as it was.

Cargas cleared her throat, "Uh…Sharah."

"Mm?" Her bow and dagger were a given. But Chillrend had just proven an added weight lately. Hell, she hadn't even drawn the thing on the Blackheart mission. Umbra had been completely obedient for a month. She'd just leave the shortsword here.

"Can we talk to you?"

"Sounds like you already are. Make it quick though, I've got a contract." Shield. She should take her shield. Sharah was defending someone after all.

Cargas continued, "Well, we just wanted to know if everything was alright between us."

Sharah shrugged as she stuffed some additional long sleeved shirts into her bag. Bruma was always cold. "Yeah, we're alright," she said with disinterest.

Lashana groaned in exasperation, "Come on, Sharah. When are you going to stop being mad at us?"

Sharah twisted and shot a glare back over her shoulder, then went back to packing.

"It was just for fun—Ow!"

Cargas had kicked Lashana to shut her up, but Sharah was already on her feet and rounding on them.

"Fun? No. Fun would be something we could laugh about later. Do I look like I'm laughing?" She did not need this right now. Not in the least. Sharah was having trouble enough focusing.

Lashana continued, "That was almost three months ago."

"Which should tell you just how serious it was to me." Had it really been three months since Heart's Day? She'd tried to forget about it, but now it felt like last week. "I just can't believe that two people who were supposed to be my friends just left me clueless. I trusted you. You knew I had no idea about both of them and you still said nothing!"

Cargas tried to plead with her, "Sharah—"

"And to top it all off, you two were betting money on it. All instead of talking to me. And right in front of me. I just…" She couldn't even look at them anymore. Another betrayal of her trust. Thank goodness they'd been friends for so long or she might be giving them more than a verbal lashing. It didn't keep her from being pissed as hell at them though. It hurt to have them trick her like they had, but the hurt was nothing compared to the hatred she'd felt at her last betrayal. More like striking sparks with no tinder rather than the bonfire of rage directed toward Maglir. Oh…Maglir. That fury popped up again as quick as a flash. Damn, another distraction. Sharah went back to her packing just to keep herself from doing anything she might regret.

Cargas tried again, "Sharah, we're sorry. Really. We didn't mean any harm by it. Can you please forgive us?" The words were absolutely sincere, and broke through some of Sharah's anger.

Sharah grumbled as she cinched her pack shut. "Well, the apology's a start."

There was a moment's pause as Cargas glared at the Redguard beside her. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry, too," Lashana admitted, "And…I should have known better. More than Cargas, anyway. I mean, how could she? She goes through men like socks."

That drew a burst laugh from Sharah, even though she was trying to stay angry.

After Cargas stopped laughing, she said, "So…friends again?"

Sharah stood up and shook her head in exasperation. She wanted to stay mad at them, but…she really did needed to keep all the friends she could. "Yeah. Friends again." The three of them exchanged warm smiles, Sharah's anger at them flickering out now that they'd sought to bridge the gap, and all of them pleased with their reconnection. "But I'm still mad at you."

Lashana waved her hands, "Completely understandable."

"Why didn't you two talk to me? And if you tell me it was some kind of joke—"

"No," Cargas insisted, "No, nothing like that. Well…not exactly. We were just adapting…Ok, if we tell you something, will you promise not to get mad again?"

Sharah crossed her arms. "That depends on what it is."

Cargas looked to Lashana for support, but the Redguard just backed up a step, "Oh, no. You brought this one up. You're on your own."

"What?" Sharah demanded, not sure if she was going end up growling or laughing.

"Alright, alright. Well, there was this thing we did. And not just us, I'm pretty sure it was every guildhall at one time or another. Just a running…thing, and just to keep occupied between contracts. I mean, you know the guild. Nobody means any harm by any of it. It's just for fun—"

"Get on with it!" Sharah snapped, "What was it?"

The Imperial healer rubbed at the back of her neck, "Well, we…everybody…" She sighed before pressing forward, "We all took to betting on how long you'd stay in any guildhall. Before you moved to headquarters, I mean."

Sharah blinked. "What?"

Cargas rushed to explain, "It was just for fun. No harm meant. But, after the guild figured out you were this roving fighter, they took to betting on how long you'd stay at a guildhall after you arrived. You know: betting ten gold that you'd be out on the road before two weeks, or five that you'd leave within days. Winners won the pot and such. We, Lashana and I, just picked it up along the way."

Lashana jumped in, "But after you moved to headquarters, we couldn't do it anymore. Cargas and I usually do something between the two of us on that so…we were just sort of in the habit."

"It was my idea to bet on the guys," Cargas admitted, "I really didn't mean it to end up badly."

"But I should have said 'no'. Especially when we figured out you had no idea. Truth was, it was more betting on those two. Which one would get up the nerve to ask you out first."

Sharah looked critically between them…then smiled…then started laughing. Grins broke out on both the women's faces when they realized Sharah wasn't going to start railing on them again. "Really? People actually did that? Why?"

Lashana shrugged, "Guess someone got bored with just fighting and drinking all day. Then it just snowballed."

"I'll bet. I'm just impressed no one let it slip. I had no idea."

"Well, it wouldn't work if you knew. Then you might set something up with someone and steal the whole pot. Oh!" Lashana snapped her fingers, "We should have thought of that."

They laughed together. Just like old times. Sharah had missed this. "Ok, ok. Just…promise you won't keep things from me anymore. That whole suitor thing…" Her face fell, "I really wish it had turned out different. The idea of a husband and children, it's something I do want…eventually. And if I'd been more prepared, this might have turned out different."

Her friends nodded.

"We promise."

"From now on, no more secrets."

Sharah's felt a tug at her chest. No more secrets?...She'd always have secrets. Sharah looked down and picked up her bag and shield, "Look, I really do have a contract. But…we'll talk more when I get back. Alright?"

"Sure, we'll even buy the drinks. Least we can do to make up," Cargas said.

"Can we walk with you to the stables?" Lashana asked.

Sharah nodded, "Sure. I'd like that."

Friends again. No grudge was worth losing this. Why had she even thought it would be?

Sharah's heart tugged in her chest. Gray…he was losing this now. Losing the chance to have it ever again. And she couldn't even help him. She didn't know how. He'd even called her his best friend. Another tug in her chest. Not from the loss…but because she didn't actually think of him as hers. That made her feel worse. Could you be someone's best friend if they weren't yours? She didn't think she even had one.

He was close though. Sharah glanced between her two comrades. She couldn't call either of them her best friend. They'd never know about her time as a thief, never understand her love of shadows and stealth. Gray knew about her joy in the blade, even if he had a hard time accepting and understanding it. Truth was, Gray knew the most about all the aspects of her life. He was the closest friend she had.

Sharah sighed. She lived a life of almosts. When Sharah had been growing up, everything had been perfect. No secrets or hidden aspects of life. She'd lived completely open with her family. Expected to live a full life of adventure, find friends for life, meet someone, fall in love and eventually settle down to raise a family. Just like her father had.

The fire had done more than throw her into the world. It had ended her old life of perfect expectations, and tossed her into this new one of almosts. The Fighters Guild was almost family. Gray was as close to a best friend as she would likely get.

That brought up another thought. Guilbert Jemane. Sharah's father had often told the tale of how he met her mother. Adventuring with comrades he'd come across a town beset by goblins and volunteered to assist the townsfolk in repelling them. Partly out of honor, and partly to impress the lovely young lady he'd been flirting with at the tavern. He'd gone and battled. Sharah loved that part, but father paid detail to what came after. He'd returned to the town with the others, wounded like the others, and that fair maiden had rushed into his arms the moment he returned. She'd welcomed him into her home, tended to his wounds. A week later, she packed her things and followed him back to Hammerfell. They'd wed, settled into a quaint piece of countryside and raised a family. Her father said his itch to travel had vanished the moment she'd wrapped her arms around him.

Sharah had seen the love her parents had for one another and always thought that Mara herself had taken interest in their meeting. And whatever she'd wanted in the way of exploration and adventuring, in the end Sharah assumed she'd end up like them: married to someone she absolutely loved and completely happy.

But that was the dreams of her life before. Maybe…maybe she was hoping for too much. Love was not common. It didn't happen to everyone. It didn't even happen to the majority of people. Maybe close enough was enough.

Guilbert Jemane. Sharah had been so frustrated with everything after Hearts Day. She hadn't really given it a chance, had she? There wasn't any whirlwind passion. But…how often did that really happen? She did like him. And he certainly liked her. And she hadn't scared him off when she'd massacred the ogres. Maybe that was all she needed. There were worse things than spending your life with someone you liked and who liked you. Sharah might not be as blissfully happy as her parents, but she'd be content.

Sharah sighed, squared her shoulders and tried to smile. Thinking about the Fighters Guild and Gray…Yes, after she got back from Bruma and had really settled things with her friends, then she'd go and find Guilbert. She'd…try. She could be content with close enough. Yes, close enough was enough.

**Review please. They've already affected what I write so they do matter.  
**


	20. The Wolf in the North

**Forsooth, it hath been 10 days since last I updated. Woe is me who doth leaveth mine readers with bated breath and sorrow in their hearts!**

**Guest: I've already set the Shivering Isles in my storyline. Actually, (shadowed spoiler) **_**it has to do with the ending**_**. And, when you put up a review saying 'i'm just checking on you're updating' I squeaked in joy. Really...i actually squeaked, learning I had some intent followers. THANK YOU!**

**On to the tale.**

Alright, Bruma was not as cold as she'd figured. Chilly, yes. But no snow at the city's elevation. Then again, it was the middle of Second Seed, almost summer. Even in Bruma, the seasons changed. Sharah headed for the Bruma guildhall first thing. She needed to report in to Alderil and see if there were any additional details about her assignment. Although the entire way, Sharah was eyeing the city like a battlefield, looking for back alleys, rooftop access, places that would gather shadows when night fell. She found it disconcerting to notice how treacherous the city was when she sought the weaknesses. How had she ever felt secure within stone walls?

Bruma was divided, for the most part, into three terraces. Four, if you included the castle. The first terrace was mostly low to middle income homes and the less discriminating inn/tavern. The houses ranged from middle to low traveling north to south, with the least agreeable dwellings circling back and hiding behind the chapel. Second level included the guildhalls, third was the shops and the higher class inn and homes. And finally the castle overlooking everything.

Sharah climbed the slope of the plaza up to the second terrace and took the stone pathway to the guildhall's door. The place was Nordic by design, inside and out: one large room, all wood, lit by torches and sturdy looking chandeliers that looked like suspended metal wagon wheels. There was one room upstairs for the guild-head's office and quarters. But member beds and storage was downstairs, underground. That's where all the warm air stayed. In truth, Sharah didn't know how Alderil could stand sleeping on the second floor, especially in the dead of winter. Fighters Guild had a Nord who preferred the swamp, and an Altmer who liked the mountain cold. Go figure that one out.

There were some members at the large circular dining table, and two Sharah recognized sparing in the practice area. "Hail, guildmates!" she called.

Right-Wind and Bumph gra-Gash, an Argonian and Orc respectively, ceased in their motions to return her greeting.

"Sharah the Wolf, hail. About time you showed up. That herald's been down here every day this week," Bumph remarked. Neither of these two took well to nobles. That was Alderil's job.

"My apologies for not killing my horse to get up here. Is Alderil upstairs? I need to report."

"I am here."

Sharah turned to the fair skinned Altmer who was striding toward her. Did they have to be so tall? "Reporting for duty. Have there been any developments?"

Alderil shook his head, "No. Your arrival is anticipated at the castle. The countess was pleased when I told her the Wolf of Cyrodiil would be assigned to the task."

Sharah replied, "Good. Oreyn also said you were holding something for me."

"Yes, I will fetch it." He spoke directly and with little frill. He may be Fighters Guild, but Alderil was still a typical Altmer at heart: not much for pointless small talk.

Alderil turned to do as he said, and Right-Wind walked toward his former pupil. After Sharah's general training for the guild, she'd traveled to Bruma for more focused training in blade work from him. Bumph gra-Gash opted to start whomping on a dummy now that her sparring partner was off the mat.

"So," Right-wind began, "You go to babysit a noble. Good it's you and not me."

"Because you'd get the Fighters Guild kicked out of the city by day's end?" Sharah asked with a smirk.

Whatever snide comment he had intended to make died on his lips and the Argonian crossed his arms to start grumbling, hissing at Bumph when she snickered at him.

Sharah glanced around the hall, "Are there more people here than last time?"

Bumph nodded, still smacking at the dummy with her axe, "Recruits from out of Skyrim. Sassguard gets on with them, I think."

Sharah glanced over at the bitter Nord sitting at the dining table. He'd joined two years ago, did his contracts but never warmed up to anyone. It was good he finally found friends in the guild.

Bumph paused in her drill to look at Sharah. The Orc leaned toward them, as though it might significantly shorten the distance, "Is it true?"

Sharah raised an eyebrow, "What?"

"Azani Blackheart," Bumph said. Oh…him.

"Did you really duel him?" Right-Wind asked eagerly now that the subject had been broached.

Sharah shrugged, "I fought him. But Oreyn was the one who killed the bastard."

The Orc continued, finally walking over, "And Blackwood? Are they really as bad as we've heard? Bruma's far from Leyawiin, but we've gotten reports."

Sharah nodded, "Yeah, they're a problem. But they'll have to talk their way out of that Blackheart business before they cause us any more trouble."

Right-Wind's lip lifted off his teeth, "Stinking cowards give Blackmarsh a bad name."

He might have said more, but Alderil had returned bearing a large package. He offered it out to her like a regal nobleman, "This is a gift to you from the guild. It was agreed that the Wolf of Cyrodiil should be properly outfitted, given your acclaim."

There was some scoff from over at the dining table, but when Sharah glanced over neither Sassguard nor his friends were looking in their direction.

Meanwhile, Right-Wind was grumbling, "We've been in the guild longer, and she's the one who gets presents."

Bumph elbowed him, "Like you didn't chip in."

"Like a septim," the Argonian defended.

Bumph laughed. "Try seven. Go on, Sharah. Open it, already. It was Burz gro-Khash's idea if you'd believe it," she said, turning back to the mats and lifting her axe against the poor unfortunate dummy.

Sharah reached for the wrappings while Alderil held the bulk. "I really hope you didn't go out of your way. And what do you mean properly outfitted? What's wrong with my…Oh."

Sharah was shocked into silence while even Alderil was smiling at her expression.

XXX

The scene of the audience chamber was as it always was. Torchlight flickered across the spacious stone walls and reached toward the high ceiling, chasing the shadows into retreat only to have them charge back when the flame danced toward another side. Banners of Bruma's great winged bird were set into yellow fabric upon the walls. And the Countess sat regally upon her richly carved and embroidered throne, today with her steward and the captain of her guard in attendance.

The affairs of the county regularly kept the countess busy during the time when she held court. But the evidence of her anxiety was clear to see for those who looked for it. The periodic taping of her finger on the arm of her throne, the way she looked up quickly at any sudden noise or movement, and the lengthy minutes she spent between matters looking across the audience chamber, through the partially curtained archway, and out into the great entry hall beyond for any sign or sound of someone passing through the front door of her castle.

The countess's steward, Yvara Channitte, was taking account of some papers during one of these lengthy gazes across the halls when she chose to comment on the thoughts that were likely crossing her lady's mind. "The Fighters Guild is certainly taking their time."

Countess Narina Carvain retained her regal composure, for the most part, and did not let her unease pollute her words, "They did say they were calling someone in from their headquarters.

The Breton did not hold to her lady's example of restraint and said critically, "Yes. The Wolf of Cyrodiil. I certainly hope she's worth the wait."

"I have heard good things in regards to her. And I would trust the Fighters Guild to take this contract seriously." It was difficult to tell if Countess Narina's tone was shaded by doubt in her statement or anxiety over her sister.

The steward voiced her opinion on the matter, "They had better for what we're going to be paying them for this. Captain Burd, what of your guards? Has anything happened to raise concern?" Yvara never referred to her husband by anything but his proper name and title in open court. Anything less would be inappropriate.

The rugged Nord man replied, "I've increased patrols and put every available eye on alert. But no. Nothing so far." He paused before saying, "And in regards to the Fighters Guild…it would not hurt to have more manpower on hand."

Yvara gave Captain Burd a look that said 'you are of no help', then said out loud, "My lady, the castle is well guarded. Certainly there is no reason to call in a bodyguard from the Fighters Guild when any one of your men would gladly defend Lady Marisia with their lives."

Countess Narina declared harshly, "I will take no chances with my sister's life."

Yvara dropped her eyes, cowed by her lady's tone, "Of course. Forgive me, my lady."

The Countess called for her herald, "Tolgan! Go to the Fighters Guild and inquire after the bodyguard."

The man bowed and departed from the audience chamber, heeding the same order he'd been given each day for the past week.

Yvara waited for a few moments before speaking again, "I do not mean to belittle Lady Marisia's safety. I merely hesitate to trust the assistance of one called the Wolf. Historically, the name does not inspire confidence." The deeds of Potema Septim, the Wolf Queen of Solitude, in the second century of the third era were notoriously evil.

"I will judge the woman when she arrives, not by the moniker she bears."

The herald, Tolgan, stepped back into the hall, surprising everyone by how swiftly he had returned. That was until he announced, "Sharah, the Wolf of Cyrodiil, has arrived."

The woman he was announcing stepped around the herald even before he had finished speaking. Sharah was of no great quality in her appearance. She was pretty, not beautiful. The very definition of petite. In common garb and neutral posture, she looked the part of some unassuming maiden. But the way she walked and held herself broke the illusion of weakness and warned against taking her lightly. Her expression was grave and intense, her motions the same. Each step was imbued with a dancer's grace and a warrior's strength, summed in a threatening power that flowed beneath the surface of her skin. A wolf, indeed.

Her garb only completed the picture. The Wolf of Cyrodiil wore a dark stained set of leather that covered her entire body, save for the ends of her fingers. Chainmail peeked through at the sleeves and beneath the cuirass. As the Wolf moved, some metal plates could be discerned under the material at her chest, arranged to ensure protection without sacrificing free movement. The collar was high but not confining, somehow still exuding feminine qualities despite the full covering. And across the surface of the leather, designs were inlaid with some kind of fabric or metal. Dulled against reflecting light, but they stood out against the darker armor and swirled and curved in simple designs over her arms and chest. And, to announce its wearer's identity, the belt was emblazoned with the head of a wolf that glared outward with teeth bared. The quality was fine, the design elegant and functional, and contained the ferocity of the warrior like a second skin.

The countess observed the approach of the newcomer, then her face lit up in recognition, "Sharah. You are the Wolf of Cyrodiil?"

Sharah the Wolf smiled humbly, betraying the woman beneath the warrior garb, "I am. Although, I assumed you knew. It's no great secret."

Countess Narina rose and embraced her. It was a formal embrace, but certainly a more friendly gesture than most received who entered her castle, "It is wonderful to see you again. Do you still have my Akaviri ring?"

Sharah removed a gauntlet and displayed a ring on her finger with a green gem the shape of a viper's eye, "I rarely take it off. It's saved my life on more than one occasion. Thank you again for giving it to me."

"Of course. And you are going to guard my sister?"

Sharah nodded, "With my life, my lady."

Countess Narina smiled, "I thought I would be entrusting her life to a stranger. I am so glad that is not the case. Yvara, take Sharah the Wolf to Marisia's quarters and see to it that they are acquainted. She will be glad to be out of her quarters again."

The fighter interrupted, "My lady, if I may, I would prefer to walk the castle before that."

The Breton steward glowered and said impatiently, "Lady Marisia has waited long enough for her guard, Sharah the Wolf. A tour of the castle can wait until another time."

Sharah's eyes wandered to the woman with some combination of annoyance and reproof, "I need to know the setting where I'm to be working. The layout, the routes, the weaknesses."

Yvara scoffed, "Captain Burd assures us that the castle is sealed against the threat."

The Wolf looked at the woman in silence, weighing something in her mind. Then she said, "Would you close your eyes for a moment, my lady?" Yvara was slightly startled by this seemingly abrupt and odd request. "Just for a moment, so I can prove a point. Countess, if you would as well."

Countess Narina Carvain was far less hostile than her steward over the whole thing, having already made her acquaintance and sat discussing her Akaviri passion for hours during their previous encounter. She took a step away from the Wolf and nodded toward Yvara before her lids descended. The Breton refrained from grumbling and followed her countess's example.

After a moment, Sharah spoke from some distance away, "Open your eyes now." The women did so to find that the Wolf had effectively disappeared. She had spoken a moment ago, but was nowhere in sight. And Captain Burd was frowning.

"Can you see me, my lady?" Sharah asked, her voice disembodied.

The question could have been directed at either of the women, but it was the Countess who spoke, "No." In fact, even though words had been heard, they gave no indication as to where the speaker was located.

Sharah the Wolf next said, "Captain Burd…can I kill the Countess from where I am?"

The captain's frown darkened further, but he admitted, "Yes."

Countess Narina and her steward looked quickly toward a slight movement as Sharah the Wolf stepped from a small pocket of darkness partly hidden by a banner. And she was holding her arms in the position of one drawing a bow taut about an arrow. The potential threat was there, made all the more real by the fact that the Wolf had been concealed within sight and yet been unseen.

Before Ysara could recover her shock and begin her beratement, Sharah dropped her hands and said, "I saw two ways to get to that hiding place without being sighted. And that is just one. Removing the banner would make that place easier to see, but not all of these weaknesses are so easily fixed. I do not doubt Captain Burd's efforts, or his men's diligence. But no location is perfectly secure. If I am to protect your sister, I must know which shadows to watch, and which corners to be wary of. Otherwise, there's really no point in having me here at all."

Ysara went red in the face, and began the noble's equivalent of sputtering while she sought some rebuke. Countess Narina, however, took the display as Sharah had intended it, "Very well. Do as you see fit. Ysara, see to it that Sharah has copies of keys to the castle. I hope it will not be too long before you can see to your task."

"No, my lady. I will be as quick as I can."

There was probably some formal dismissal she was supposed to wait for, but Sharah was eager to look the castle over and see to her charge. Eager enough to rebuff the court etiquette that Alderil had kept trying to teach her. She could manage the basics: polite, 'my lady', 'my lord', don't growl at the gentry when they get stupid or puffed. Not that the Countess Narina ever got puffed. She was…more a person than a staple of the aristocracy, and Sharah responded well to that.

The remainder of the day was spent walking the halls of Bruma castle, seeking weaknesses. Captain Burd knew his stuff, set his men and patrols as well as any she'd seen. But they were soldiers, she was a thief. And assassins shared their shadowy setting with thieves more than the armed guards. So that was where she looked.

Ysara found her under an hour later. The Breton still had an angry look on her face, but that didn't keep her from handing Sharah a ring of keys that would give the Fighters access to the entire castle. Sharah took them without a word, knowing anything she said would only antagonize the steward further, and continued with her survey. Overall, Sharah decided she could put up with the woman. Her rigidity was born of duty and loyalty to her countess, something worthy of respect.

The entirety of the personalized tour was taken at a trot, except when she paused to focus on a particularly troubling spot. Guards looked at her passing curiously but didn't interrupt, perhaps because of the expression on her face. One of complete focus, as though she was on the hunt for something. She certainly felt like that. Or…partly. One part of her mind was surveying the castle like a combatant waiting for battle, a hunt where the prey came to her. Another part was walking the shadows and hidden paths as the assassin might. Considering what steps she would take, what weaknesses she would exploit. That part of Sharah's mind played the part of assassin…and easily.

Either way, it was good the guards couldn't see her mind through all this. Good, too, that Sharah didn't take the time to stop and wonder why it was so easy to imagine slipping through the castle with a naked blade. No, the task was too important for distractions like that.

By nightfall, Sharah had scoured most of the castle. She made plans to walk the battlements tomorrow, and take a trip to the dungeon as well. But, with all the progress she'd made, Sharah set her path to the Lord Manor section of the castle and ultimately the private chambers of Lady Marisia Carvain, which Sharah picked out by the four posted guards outside the door.

Sharah's guild patch and her castle keys got her clearance. Sharah was announced and permitted entry. Inside, standing in the main room of a noblewoman's personal chamber, was not only an Imperial woman who bore a close family resemblance to the countess, but the countess herself. Sharah looked on her charge first. Her hair was a bit darker, and she lacked her sister's innate spirit, but they were certainly sisters. Although Sharah would guess that Marisia was more docile and diplomatic than Narina.

Both women looked up at Sharah's entrance. Sharah tried not to look too uncertain, not knowing how she was supposed to act in this setting, until the Countess beckoned her forward.

"Did your survey of the castle prove helpful?" Countess Narina inquired.

Sharah nodded, "Very, my lady. I need to see the dungeon and the battlements tomorrow. That should be sufficient."

Countess Narina turned to her sister, "Marisia, this is Sharah the Wolf. Your bodyguard."

Sharah bowed, "My lady."

"Narina tells me you recovered the Draconian Madstone. It seems a bit to a career change from adventurer to bodyguard." The same suspicion as Ysara, but spoken so diplomatically Sharah was a little ashamed to feel defensive.

"I am Fighters Guild, my lady," Sharah replied, "And therefore anything that that requires. I considered the adventuring a part of my training for the guild. It taught me how to fight and where to look for threats."

The Countess assured Marisia, "Sharah has proven very capable. And anyone who can handle a mountain of ogres and undead can handle an assassin I think."

Sharah smiled, "Thank you for the vote of confidence, my lady."

Narina settled a gentle smile on the woman, "We are not in open court here, Sharah. You may call me Narina."

Sharah dipped her head, "I didn't want to assume anything. It's been a while since I was last here, and you could have forgotten."

Narina smiled back, then her face fell, "My steward warned me to be cautious of you. After your display in the audience chamber, she says you might be in league with the assassins."

"I didn't mean to frighten anyone. Just make you aware. And show why I needed to check around the castle."

"I understand. But if you would kindly avoid antagonizing my steward, I think we will all appreciate it."

Sharah heard the order beneath the comment, "Of course, my lady."

"Narina," the countess corrected.

"Narina."

In the back of her mind, Sharah worried about exactly how familiar she was allowed to be with the Countess. They got along well, each respected, liked and trusted the other. But they hadn't spent enough time together that Sharah would really consider them friends. So…how was Sharah supposed to act toward her?

Sharah didn't like court. Public, private, formal, casual. Juggling what was or wasn't acceptable in what circumstance, no matter who you were dealing with. She knew how to treat friends and people in casual setting. But court? It was like a foreign land. Her best bet would be to keep her mouth shut and look stoic. Hopefully the assassin wouldn't take too long to strike. Hm…wasn't that dark: hoping someone showed up to threaten her charge.

"My…Narina, Lady Marisia," familiarity with the countess didn't necessarily transfer to family members, "There are some particulars, if I could discuss them with you."

First, Sharah requested some personal time in the evenings. Narina was willing to give her time off her duty as bodyguard, but Sharah insisted it be no more than an hour. As to what she intended to do with that hour, she wouldn't really be off duty at all.

The second particular was in regards to her sleeping arrangements. Narina had assumed close proximity would be best, so a pallet had already been brought up in preparation. Which fit Sharah's intentions just fine. Except for that hour, Sharah didn't intend to let Lady Marisia out of her sight.

XXX

Olav's Tap and Tack. Every city had a particular inn where the rough and tumble types like to congregate. In Bruma, Olav's was it. And why was Sharah here during the most rambunctious of drinking hours? Thieves guild, of course.

Sharah dodged and weaved through the crowd and plopped herself down at an occupied table, "Hello, Ongar. How have you been?"

The old Nord looked up from his mug, his skin sagging as a whole as though it were just too tired to keep a hold of his face. Ongar the World-Weary was the fence in town, and therefore the go to man for information. Even if he did sleep fourteen hours out of the day. Sharah never could figure out how he managed both.

He sighed. "Can we skip the small talk? It's too much effort."

Sharah crossed her arms and said, "Alright. I need a lookout around town. In particular, I need to know if there are any new faces or visitors or…anything out of the ordinary that you might notice. Do you think you can help me?"

Ongar sighed again, "I suppose. You're on that assassin thing, right? Never mind. What's in it for me?"

"Twenty five gold, I cover your tab here as long as I'm in town, and a bonus after if the assassin doesn't off the countess's sister."

The Nord shrugged, "Sounds alright. And I guess I'm supposed to keep you informed, right?"

Sharah nodded, "I'll be here every night."

Ongar took another swig, "Fine by me. Then I guess you should know about that merchant who showed up yesterday."

"Merchant?"

"Yeah. Dunmer. Temper. Some mage or other, too. Brought his apprentice this time." Yawn. "Merchant's nothing new. Shows up periodically. Never seen his apprentice before though. They met with some noble in town to do business. Only interesting thing to come up here, 'cept that Black Horse courier."

Sharah leaned forward, "Are they still here?"

"Yeah. They're stayin' here. The rooms downstairs, over…Oh, that's them." As thieves didn't point, Ongar directed his vision, and therefore hers, toward the stairway down where a scowling Dunmer in fairly well off clothes was coming up. He and Oreyn could glare each other down for a week and end in a stalemate. Although where Oreyn had a quiet intensity, this Dunmer looked more likely to just explode. "Oh, him, I mean," Ongar corrected himself, "Guess his apprentice is off somewhere."

Sharah took stock of the Dunmer for a moment and was suddenly anxious to get back to the castle, "So he's a regular?"

Ongar nodded and took another drink, "Every month or so. Brings stuff from the south up to Novaroma."

"And his apprentice?"

"I don't know. Bosmer? Yeah, Bosmer. Never seen him before. He was with the merchant though."

Sharah nodded, "Anyone else new or interesting?"

Ongar shook his head.

She tapped the table lightly before standing, "Thanks, Ongar. Your drinks are on me from tonight until this is over. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah," the Nord replied with another yawn.

Sharah arranged Ongar's tab with Olav before she left the inn. She wasn't sure if the merchant was the assassin, or his apprentice. But, they were something to be aware of.

XXX

Lady Marisia woke to a strange sound in her chamber. The room was pitch black, so there was nothing to see. But the faint sound persisted of passing air and an almost imperceptible shift of a body. When the sound did not fade, Marisia's mind immediately conjured images of a cut-throat assassin stalking the room's length, blade raised, eyes hungry for blood, ready to rip her apart where she lay. Lady Marisia threw her arms out desperately for the candle by her bed, knocking it over in her quest for light.

An unfamiliar voice broke through the quest and through Marisia's hysteria, "My lady, are you alright?"

Marisia froze when the stranger spoke. Then only slightly relaxed on remembering who it was. Her bodyguard. Yes, she had a bodyguard now. Marisia breathed, "Y-yes." She leaned out of the bed, pawing at empty air for her fallen candle.

"Here, let me," the bodyguard insisted, and there was more sounds of shifting as she crossed the room to the noble's bedside, in addition to that of a sword being sheathed.

Marisia tried to compose herself before there was light to reveal her frightened state. As a noblewoman, she must ever appear in control, no matter the circumstances.

The bodyguard cooed some imperceptible syllables and a flame appeared, licking in her palm, the light flicker across her face. But only her face. Marisia thought the woman looked like a disembodied head as she was still garbed in that dark armor. Armor that hardly caught the light at all. At least some of it. The metallic inlaid designs, dull though they were, did reflect and shift, turning the woman into something ethereal. The light played over those wafting designs until one's eyes reached her belt where it all became very solid. The wolf symbol, teeth bared and jaws agape, seemed to leap forward in an attack, demanding attention. Marisia looked up at the woman and decided that, in this setting, she didn't look quite human. And Marisia admitted herself afraid. Except…

The way the woman held the flame in her hand and coaxed the candle's wick to light. It looked like she was holding something delicate, like a bird. Could someone look frightening and reassuring at once? And to the same person?

As the bodyguard placed the candle on the nightstand, Marisia caught an outline on her hip. There was the briefest sight of her sword. Then the woman shifted her weight and it vanished into the shadows, almost like the blade was loath to be seen. Where did one get a weapon like that? Certainly it was not ebony or some stained glass.

Marisia looked at the woman's face again and thought of Ysara. She'd come in with Narina that evening and said the bodyguard had threatened her sister in open court. Then the steward had accused her of being one of the assassins. Narina had waved off the concern, but looking now Marisia could see what Ysara was talking about. Marisia could see this woman as an assassin. But Narina seemed to trust her whole-heartedly. Which left Marisia nothing but confused.

The bodyguard looked at Marisia and repeated, "Are you alright?"

Marisia swallowed her confusion and said, "Yes. I just…thought I heard something."

"Oh. That was probably me. I was doing some exercises. I was trying to be quiet. Didn't mean to wake you."

"Exercises? Now?" Marisia asked.

The bodyguard nodded, "I was restless. And the armor's new. Fits well, but still needs to be worked in. I'm sorry I woke you." When the noble woman did not seem the least reassured, her bodyguard added, "You can rest easy, my lady. No one's getting past me."

Marisia managed an affirmative gesture and lay back down, making a point to keep the bodyguard in her vision. "We'll just leave that going for a while," the woman said. Marisia was ashamed to be so relieved by the continued life of the single candle.

The bodyguard went back across the room and lay down on her pallet. She'd locked both Marisia's chamber door, and her bedroom door. Then spread her pallet directly across the inner threshold before they both took their rest. Now she returned to that place and lay down, putting her back against the door. Rather like a defending hound. No…a defending wolf.

"Why do you call yourself 'The Wolf'?" Marisia asked, unable to stop the words from coming out of her mouth.

Her bodyguard, Sharah, paused before replying, "Because other people were doing it. I didn't pick the nickname. Someone else did. Caught on so fast I just couldn't get rid of it."

Marisia pressed, "And why did _they_ call you 'The Wolf'?"

Sharah the Wolf's shrug could just be made out in the light of the single flickering candle, "Don't know. I suppose I've grown into it, but when it first started I had no idea what they saw. Maybe because I did so much traveling around Cyrodiil. Wolves are roaming creatures. It could have been that. I'm pretty tough in a fight. But less so when the nickname first popped up. Or it could be how I care for my guildmates, my friends. My pack, if you want to make the parallel. I'd die defending any one of them. No doubt."

"And that's why you're here. Because you're loyal to your guild and it's contracts?"

"Partly. Also to Narina. I consider her a member of my pack. Someone worth defending." She shifted to look at Marisia, "You too, actually." Sharah the Wolf leaned up on one elbow and leveled an intense look on the noblewoman, "I told this once to Narina and I'll say it to you. I will defend you with my life."

Marisia wasn't sure how to react to being called a member of a pack. She was still uneasy about the bodyguard. It was hard not to be, given how intense she was. It made her a little frightening. But…perhaps that was not a bad thing. There were worse things to have guarding you than a wolf.

**And there we go. Next chapter: assassination and the Dark Brotherhood. Review please, and tell me your thoughts.**


	21. Thrice the Assassins Strike

**Ok, update.  
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**Thanks for reading and reviewing. I'm so glad this is being enjoyed. ONWARD!**

"This is an important assignment. You'd better be at your best."

"I understand."

"I have noticed an increase in the castle's patrols. And I've heard they brought in a bodyguard from the Fighters Guild. You should plan accordingly."

"I will."

"And don't think for a moment that I won't chain lightening on you if you screw this up."

"Yes, my Speaker."

"Speaker, I believe he understands the risks. You are welcome in my Sanctuary until you complete your assignment."

"Then you get back where you belong. And don't take forever about it."

"Yes, my Speaker. I will not fail."

XXX

"That merchant cleared out today. Dropped his merchandise at Novaroma and left for the south after midday. Didn't see his apprentice though. Might be something. Might not be anything. But I guess that's your call right?" Ongar said over the table.

Sharah rotated her bottle in thought, "Yeah…maybe. Keep an eye out for the apprentice, just in case. I'd like to know if he's still here or not. Anyone else?"

"An Imperial traveler from Skingrad is passing through, headed for Skyrim. He's staying at Jerall View. Skooma smugglers are moving a shipment though the Bruma Caverns tomorrow night…How far back do you want information anyway?"

" 'How far back'? Depends on what activity you're referring to," Sharah said.

Ongar shrugged and took another drink, "I've just noticed more traffic from Skyrim in the last year. Folk moving over the Jeralls into Bruma. Big burly types, comin' down to settle in the city and around the area."

Sharah thought a moment, "We've gotten a few new members at the Fighters Guild. Is that who you're talking about?"

"Some. There are others, too. Moved down about the same time, I think. I don't know. Just seemed unusual is all, since they all like to meet with this one Nord woman who comes in here once a month. Uh…Johanna. Yeah, that's it. Not bad on the eyes. Eh, if I were a younger man, maybe."

Sharah pressed, "Do you think it has anything to do with this countess business?"

Ongar shrugged, "I don't know. It's been steady for a while, so maybe not. Just thought I'd say something, since it's been so regular. Your call if you want to look into it."

Sharah considered. If it were so regular, maybe it was something else. Hm…just something to keep in mind. "Watch out for that apprentice, and let me know what that Skingrad person does in town. If that's it…?"

"Yeah. Hey, you gonna finish that?" Ongar asked as she stood up.

Sharah chuckled and left her half empty bottle in front of him. Ongar downed it while simultaneously waving at Olav for another while she left. Nords. She didn't have to offer Olav money or favors to get him to do what she asked. Winning over an average Nord usually involved alcohol and weaponry. And since Ongar was past his prime and a thief, all she really had to do was cover his boozing. One day, she'd figure out how he managed to drink and sleep so much while still staying well informed.

The walk back to the castle was uninteresting. It was surprising how well she settled into this bodyguard business. Sharah half expected to start chomping at her bit being inside a sturdy enclosed castle with no idea when she'd leave. Or get a headache from constantly watching for an assassin to pop out of the shadows. Or get bored beyond belief of standing around while Marisia went about her business.

In actuality, it felt like a hunt. Like she was lying in wait for her quarry to come into view. In that frame of mind, Sharah hardly felt the time pass. She was hunting for prey that would come to her. Lady Marisia was just a bystander in Sharah's mind. More bait to lure in the prey than anything else. Not that that meant Sharah wouldn't protect the woman faithfully. And not that Sharah was about to say anything about her being bait. Especially with Lady Marisia still casting uncertain glances at her bodyguard.

Sharah couldn't help it. The hunter mindset just reflected in her posture and expression. There was nothing to be done about it. And Yvara wasn't helping, either. The two noble folk met regularly, drafting out some trade agreement, so the steward was constantly tossing icy glances soaked in suspicion back at Sharah, who was always present.

Sharah did not take it personally. They were the same sort of glances Sharah directed toward anyone she didn't recognize who set foot in the castle. At least Yvara's suspicion was born of her duty. There had been that other steward, also a Breton, in Anvil. Now that woman really was a noble ass. Yvara at least had good intentions behind her mistrust.

The following day, during a brief moment of quiet, Sharah inquired of Lady Marisia, "So…who exactly wants you dead, anyway? If I may ask."

Lady Marisia replied, "It has to do with this." And she lifted the papers she and Yvara had just been going through. "We want to arrange a trade agreement with the Jarl of Riften. Someone from a merchant family there is trying to prevent it."

"So they're targeting you?"

"This agreement is my responsibility, and the agreement is very intricate. Without me, it might take months to draft another…And my death would send a message to my sister also, as well as the Jarl." Marisia said it all as though she were just talking politics, her potential murder had nothing at all to do with it.

"And that's who's in the dungeon? Someone from this…other family?"

Lady Marisia nodded, "The Black-Briars. I believe he worked alone. But it's hard to say. I only hope that completing this agreement will make my death pointless. If my death will delay the agreement, its success might be my best chance."

Sharah replied, "I'll keep you alive to do it then."

Political intrigue. Damn, Sharah hated politics. All twists and secrets and complicated knots. And apparently hidden daggers and desperate souls, too. And all of it trouble, trouble, trouble. Sharah settled back into her guard stance with a hand resting on Umbra's pommel. And like all trouble, chances were it would come in three.

XXX

The first attempt was heart wrenching. A week after Sharah arrived and nothing had happened. Some people got more relaxed, perhaps believing the danger wasn't so imminent. Others, like Sharah, got more tense, knowing time only brought the danger closer. Court dinner was held at the usual time. Narina and Marisia exchanged talk about the county issues and the trade agreement's progress. A representative from the Jarl of Riften was coming to Bruma to oversee the last details. And Yvara was once again making comments about how they didn't really need a bodyguard after all this time of quiet.

Sharah was ignoring her and scanning the doorway to the audience chamber when Lady Marisia coughed. She raised a hand to her chest and rubbed, like she was trying to alleviate some pressure.

"Marisia, are you alright?" Narina asked out of concern.

Lady Marisia nodded, "Oh, yes…just a little indigestion…" Her hand shook as she reached for her goblet. The cup dropped from her grasp the moment she picked it up and Lady Marisia slumped in her chair going deathly pale.

The whole table was out of their seats and looking horrified. Sharah was at Marisia's side in a moment and Narina cried out in fear. The Wolf looked at the plate in front of her charge and the reality slapped her in the face. Damn! Of course. They were assassins. What had she been expecting?

Sharah bolted from Marisia's side and straight for the door while the court folk and dinner guests clustered forward. She ran as fast as she possibly could straight out into the audience chamber and behind Narina's throne. She ignored the lock and smashed a display case open to snatch a bulky stone necklace out of the shards of glass. Then Sharah was racing back for the dining room.

There was a crowd clustering close to where Marisia now lay on the ground with Narina clutching her hand. Sharah arrowed for their center. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" she roared. The people scattered in fear and Sharah vaulted over the table and dropped to the ground beside Marisia. One quick motion and the necklace was around her neck. The noblewoman didn't look good. Her skin was grey and her breathing was shallow.

Sharah closed the lady's free hand around the stone and said, "Marisia, you need to keep breathing." Then she reached out her…mind? Magicka? It was completely on instinct so she hardly knew the difference. Regardless, Sharah reached into the amulet and plucked the stone's enchantment like a lute string. There was none of the usual mental focus and magicka direction, just raw reaction. But the enchantment sang to life in response.

Sharah kept the woman's hand closed around the thing as she felt the stone grow warm, then hot. Marisia tried to let go of the scalding stone, but Sharah forced her to keep contact, "Don't let go. Just hang on." Sharah kept the stone pressed between Marisia's chest and palm, all contact with skin while the enchantment spread through, hot as fire, burning away the poison's deadly invasion. Gradually, her skin gained color, her chest expanded more regularly with breath, and finally her eyes opened.

"Just stay still, let it pass completely," Sharah instructed. Just to the side, Narina's sobs came out of the background. So did the worried whispers of the onlookers, and some yelling orders from the next room. All the things Sharah had blocked out for the sake of the crisis.

Narina finally managed to speak, "What…what did you…?"

"Draconian Madstone from your collection. Didn't you say it gave immunity to poisons? Well, here's the proof. I'm glad its enchantment hasn't faded over the centuries." It had been a gamble, going for the Madstone. Thank the Nine Sharah had made the right choice in those crucial moments.

When Marisia could sit up, Captain Burd came rushing in, "I've sealed off the kitchen. We'll find out who did this."

They didn't, of course. Only Marisia's plate had been poisoned. The kitchen staff and servants were clueless. Some of them mentioned seeing a stranger, but they couldn't agree whether he had been Imperial, Breton, Bosmer, or Nord. Or even what he looked like. And none of them saw where he'd gone. A dead end and no way to track the culprit.

The flurry died down, Yvara stopped accusing Sharah of being useless or an associate of the assassins. And while the glass of the display case was replaced, the Draconian Madstone remained around Lady Marisia's neck at all times. Especially at meals. While Sharah began carrying some extra potions in her belt.

XXX

Fanar, the representative of Riften's Jarl, arrived a couple days later. With a big Nord bodyguard. He was concerned to hear that there had been an attempt on Marisia's life and was all the more eager to see the agreement settled. Sharah couldn't decide if it was for the sake of Marisia's life, or for his city's economy.

The two met in a conference room with Yvara in attendance. Sharah paid the barest attention to their work, focusing instead on the windows and the doors. When she turned her attention on the other bodyguard, she found him looking straight at her. Another scan of the room, another look at him and he hadn't moved an inch.

Sharah casually walked the distance between them and stood next to him, still focusing on the room. "Problem?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see him looking at her, "What are you supposed to be?"

"Lady Marisia's bodyguard."

He snorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sharah asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the business that was happening in the room.

"You're tiny," he said in disbelief.

She cocked her head and eyed him, "And?"

"You couldn't drive off a mudcrab. What are you doing here?"

"And you're an expert on these things?"

He drew himself up, "I am Hagrad Stone-Turner, house carl for the Jarl of Riften."

This time Sharah snorted.

Hagrad growled, "What, small-fry?"

Sharah smirked, "Nothing. House carl, huh? I heard of those. Warrior when they let you outside. Maid when they don't. I can only guess how much time you spend dusting compared to how often you actually bloody your sword."

The Nord loomed over her, "I have served the Jarl of Riften for fifteen years. Don't think you can mock me."

"Really? But it's so easy, maid-boy."

"What's your name?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"So there's something on your tombstone when I crush you flat."

She looked up at him, unafraid, "Sharah the Wolf."

Hagrad paused, then grinned, "You're joking with me."

"No. That is my name. Ask anyone."

The Nord grinned and gave her a lively shove that forced her over a couple steps. "Little thing like you? Ha! I've seen real wolves twice your size. And werewolves…Ha! They'd swallow you in one bite."

Sharah sighed, "If we weren't on duty, I'd make you eat a few of those words."

He crossed his arms and laughed, "Is that so? Well, let's just do that some time. And I'll show you what a real warrior can do, pup."

"Fine then. Now would you keep your voice down? They are trying to work."

Hagrad stood back, chuckling every so often, mumbling 'wolf', then chuckling again. Sharah sighed. She didn't know if he was an idiot because he was a Nord, a man, or a Nordic man. Whatever his predisposition, it wasn't her issue. As long as he didn't get in her way when the assassins showed up.

XXX

The second attempt was more direct. And her new Nord buddy helped not at all. Sharah went down to Olav's for her nightly meet with Ongar. No new developments: that vanishing apprentice hadn't been seen and there were no new arrivals. So Sharah was back at the castle early and crossing the Lord's Manor well before her allotted time was up.

That was where Hagrad accosted her, "Well, you're early."

A little growl vibrated in the back of her throat, but not loud enough for him to hear. "What do you want, Hagrad?"

"What we agreed," he said, gulping the last of his drink and tossing the tankard aside, "Time to see what kind of warrior-wolf-pup you are." Hagrad drew his sword and beckoned with a lopsided grin. He was drunk enough to be an idiot, but not drunk enough for it to overly affect his abilities.

Sharah shook her head, "I don't have time for this. I need to get back to my post."

He blocked her way when she tried to pass, "Uh-uh, you're off for a while longer. I know that. Come on, wolf-girl. I want to see what kind of warrior can fit in a cabbage crate."

She growled audibly at him, "I am not going to fight you. There's no point in hurting one, or both of us while the Dark Brotherhood is sneaking around."

When she tried to pass him by again, he struck at her with his sword. Sharah leapt back and bared her teeth in a wolfish expression she had gotten far too comfortable with. "Back off, Hagrad. There's no point to this."

Sharah tried to get around him again and the Nord repeated his strike and then some. Umbra flew from the sheath and met Hagrad's second pass with a ring that echoed through the halls. He got this great imbecilic smile like battle was his greatest joy, and he'd just been waiting for the chance to show his mettle in the castle. Sharah just wanted back in view of Marisia. And if she had to beat a Nord up to do it, fine.

Except the Nord was tough. Oh, he was big, bulky, cumbersome, and drunk. But the man was certainly a warrior. No less than she. And apparently he had experience wielding a sword while under the influence. Sharah avoided his blows, dancing around the hall while looking for a way to finish the fight fast. Maybe knocking him over the head with her pommel.

Hagrad's sword came down hard on the stone, but she had leapt away, alighting on a table. He grinned wickedly at her, "I wish your little buddy were here to see me wipe the floor with you. Bet he wouldn't be such an adoring fan then."

The big sword smashed into the table, sticking fast in the wood while Sharah flew through the air and landed behind him. "What are you talking about?"

Hagrad jerked on his sword until it came free and swung wide for her, "He told me what you said. No way you get away with that. Maybe you shouldn't have friends with such big mouths."

Sharah ducked out of the way and parried such that both their points hit the floor and held them there, "What friend are you talking about?"

The Nord, tried to yank his sword free from her angled trap, "Your little wood elf buddy. He had a lot to say about you. You think you're so tough. I'll show you tough."

Sharah danced back when his blade slipped free. What Bosmers did she know in Bruma…oh, no. Sharah looked around frantically. Their little battle had drawn an audience. Mostly of guards who'd come to see what the trouble was and were still deciding if they should intervene between two battling warriors. And there were two among them she recognized, "YOU! What are you doing here?"

The two guards looked between each other, "We…heard the commotion…"

Sharah ducked around Hagrad's next attack and bounded for the stairs while he yelled something about cowardice after her. But she didn't hear. Didn't listen. She just ran. Up the stairs, across the banister, through the door, down the hall and straight for the door with no guards. Sharah burst into Lady Marisia's chambers to see a dark clad figure kneeling at Marisia's bed chamber door with picks in the lock.

Whoever he was, her entrance startled him. Sharah roared and hurled the fireball that had leapt to her hand. It rocketed through the air, but not at him, smashing into the door he was trying to open. The assassin leapt back as the heat exploded against the door and scrambled to his feet. Sharah was already racing across the room, Umbra still unsheathed and some ungodly roar erupting from her mouth. Sharah swung Umbra without pause, driving for her enemy. The enemy she'd been anticipating and who'd gotten within her guard. Something he wouldn't live long enough to regret doing.

Her interruption and monstrous charge had caught him completely off guard. Before her assault, the assassin could only scramble backwards, just getting away from her thirsty blade. Sharah didn't let up, not in the least. But in the back of her mind she wondered, was this it? Was this the Dark Brotherhood everyone was so terrified of? Was this an assassin, a bringer of death, this flailing figure who couldn't get a steady step beneath him?

Whatever plan he'd made was cast to the wind. The assassin dropped under a table for an instant's repose, then came out the other end and bolted for the door. Sharah followed, the bloodlust ringing in her soul. He skidded almost comically out the door, took two steps, spotted the guards coming at him from that direction, turned tail and ran the other way like Oblivion was on his heels.

Before Sharah even got to the door, she knew she probably wouldn't catch him. He was faster than she was and the castle had too many long hallways for him to pick up speed. And at the door frame, even through the heat of battle and the desire to spill blood, Sharah's task shackled her like a collar. What if he had backup? What if he circled back? What if, what if…? She couldn't leave Marisia's chambers. She had to protect the woman…no matter how much she wanted to hunt the assassin down now that she'd had him within reach.

Sharah roared after him, "FLEE, ASSASSIN!" The guards raced past the doorframe she stood in as though borne forth on the strength of her yell. The assassin disappeared around the far corner with the guards in pursuit, leaving Sharah trembling where she stood, mostly from the effort it took to keep her feet where they were.

She'd had him. The assassin had been right there, and she'd let him get away. She'd meant to strike him with the fireball. Hadn't she? She had meant to run him through with her sword. Hadn't she? She'd meant to box him in against a corner and trap him for death by her blade or the guards'. Hadn't she?

That had all been the intent. But…thinking to the past few moments…her fireball had been aimed a little high, her strikes a little off the center. Maybe she was slipping. Maybe it was all the waiting. Sharah forced herself to step backwards, one shaky step at a time. She'd been off. Just a little, in everything she'd just done. And the assassin had escaped because of it. Sharah ran a hand through her hair. She had to get a hold of herself. The assassin had gotten close. She couldn't let it happen again.

Sharah sheathed Umbra and went back to the door, "Lady Marisia? It's Sharah. Are you alright?"

There was a moment of silence. Then the lady answered, "Y-yes. I'm alright. What's happening?"

Sharah breathed, partly from relief, and partly to calm herself. "The assassin got into your chambers. I've chased him off. The guards are on him."

"They got into my chambers!?"

Sharah pulled out her key and went for the door handle. It was still warm from her fireball, but only minimal fire damage. The lock needed to be jiggled, but it gave way alright. On the other side, Lady Marisia was pale and standing with a hand on her chest. "It's alright now, my lady. He failed, and steps will be taken to ensure this doesn't happen again."

Captain Burd, some guards and that great lump Hagrad chose then to come through the Lady's chamber door.

"Lady Marisia, are you alright?" Captain Burd asked hurriedly.

Lady Marisia still looked shaken but maintained a steady voice, "Yes. I was locked in my chambers during the intrusion. Sharah the Wolf drove the assassin off."

Sharah said, "Is the castle on high alert? You might still be able to catch him."

Captain Burd answered, "The alarm is already sounded. We'll know soon enough, and search the whole castle if we must."

Well, that would be a waste of time. Sharah knew the assassin would get off the castle grounds as soon as possible. There was no salvaging a night like tonight. He'd have to try again later.

The captain continued, "How did he get in? How did he get in _here_?"

Sharah glared Hagrad, "Why don't you ask him."

The housecarl lurched, "Me? I didn't do anything."

Sharah growled at him, "You let yourself get manipulated into fighting me. A fight which drew the guards from their posts and almost got Lady Marisia killed. That Bosmer buddy who talked to you was the assassin, you idiot."

His mouth opened and closed like a fish, and he looked around trying to find some sympathy among those present. There was none.

Captain Burd looked furious, but asked Sharah, "Did you get a good look at him?"

"No. He had a hood and mask on. I saw no discerning characteristics." She jerked her head at the housecarl, "He might have more, though." Chances were the enemy wouldn't approach the Nord in full assassin garb.

Under the angry Captain's glare, Hagrad blustered, "He was…a Wood Elf. Pointy ears and…a Wood Elf." Idiot couldn't even get past the race on the description.

"There aren't that many Bosmers in Bruma. He shouldn't be too hard to single out. You'll stay with Lady Marisia?" Burd asked.

Sharah nodded, though it chafed her, "Yeah. We'll stay put."

The group gradually cleared out, Hagrad looking suspended between his pride and guilt. Sharah locked the door behind them and went about righting some things that had been upset during the fight. Anything to keep her mind centered. She needed to be calm, no flying off the reins. She still had an urge to head out onto the grounds and put her nose to the ground, so to speak. Track that killer back to whatever hole he'd ended up in. He was probably that Bosmer merchant apprentice. But it was impossible to know since she'd never seen him. Once the obvious things had been returned to their places, Sharah took to pacing in slow deliberate steps.

Marisia sat down, twisting at a handkerchief: her own method of coping with near death. Not long after, there was a knock at the door. Sharah inquired and admitted Countess Narina and her personal guard. The Carvain sisters embraced and sat for a while, talking and easing each other. Sharah kept back, shadowed and alert. There was talk of abandoning the trade agreement. But Marisia had her own level of stubborn and refused to give in. Sharah greatly respected the woman for that.

Finally Narina departed and Marisia went to her bedchamber. Sharah locked both doors, set her pallet across the inner one, but she'd get no sleep tonight. Too anxious. Too eager.

"Sharah," the lady spoke from her bed.

Sharah leaned up on an elbow and looked over, "My lady?"

"You may call me Marisia."

Sharah settled back onto her pallet, "As you wish." Nothing like an assassination attempt to win someone over.

XXX

"You failed. Twice. They will not be pleased to hear about this."

"It was the bodyguard! She was…She caught me by surprise. That's all. There's still time. I'm not done yet."

"What will you do, then? Do you think you can infiltrate the castle a second time?"

"Perhaps. But not those quarters again…I have a plan. I'll make the mark come to me. And I will use my strength. I will succeed this time. I swear it."

XXX

Sharah didn't think herself any more or less alert than she'd been in the past weeks. Well…perhaps she touched Umbra's hilt more often, but nothing more than that. The whole castle seemed tense though. Everyone recognized the assassin had gotten inside. That their patrols and attentiveness hadn't been enough. It was enlightening. Lady Marisia remained in the relative safety of her quarters more often than not. But the work on the trade agreement was completed, much to the relief of all.

Sharah watched them put the final touches on the document. "Is this satisfactory?" Marisia asked.

Fanar nodded, "Yes. As a representative of the Hold of Riften, I can accept the terms of this agreement. Now all that remains is to get the Empire's seal of approval, since this spans the border."

Lady Marisia nodded, "You'll understand if I send a representative of my own for Bruma. I do not think it wise to travel the wilderness at this time."

"Of course. Who will you send?"

"Yvara, the steward of Bruma Castle. She knows as much about this agreement as I do."

Fanar agreed, "Good. Then we will depart tomorrow for the Imperial City. The sooner we get this whole thing behind us, the better."

Lady Marisia agreed. Even Sharah couldn't help but breathe a little easier. She wanted another crack at the assassin, but Marisia's life was worth more than her petty killer-drive. And then there was the chance that the Dark Brotherhood would follow through on the assassination with or without the trade agreement. Only time would tell.

XXX

Sharah came awake the following night to a cry. A muffled, distant, desperate cry of agony. Lady Marisia didn't wake from it. Sharah removed herself from the pallet and strained her ears for another sound. Nothing. Still as night. She cleared her mind, spoke the incantation and visualized her magicka flowing up and pooling behind her eyes. When she opened them, there was not a spark of life within her range of her sight save for the lady asleep in the bed. So Sharah dared to unlock the door and step into the room beyond.

Locking the bedchamber behind her, Sharah went to the main chamber door and stood still there, listening. Something was amiss. She could feel it. It felt…like the first patters of stone that gave way to the landslide. Something was coming. Something that was now inevitable. Sharah got the sense that fate was, in this instant, giving her a warning that she was in for a wild ride. Then the little window into her future closed and she was left with just the anticipation.

Sharah didn't know how long she stood waiting. Only that the knock on the door was not surprising when it came. "Identify yourself," she demanded.

Whoever it was hesitated, clearly not expecting her to be waiting there. "Lieutenant Gerich Senarel." Sharah knew the name, the man and the voice. But she still cast life detect again before opening the door. No need to get sloppy.

The man's expression was strained, as though he carried the most dire of news. "What's happened?" Sharah asked curtly.

The Lieutenant swallowed, "Steward Yvara's been murdered."

Silence. "When?"

"Not long ago. Captain Burd is…I'm sending out the alert. And assigning a guard here, in case…they're still here."

More silence. "I'll tell Lady Marisia. Go to your task."

No more communication was needed. The two guardsman took their place outside Marisia's chamber door and Sharah went back to the bedchamber. Lady Marisia remained blissfully asleep and unaware.

Poor Burd. His wife killed. Probably because the Dark Brotherhood couldn't get to Marisia. Just because she hadn't gotten along with the woman didn't mean she deserved this. And Burd…who else could have cried out other than him?

Sharah was oddly calm. Her mind flowed like a steady mountain river fed by the winter ice. The trade agreement needed to be signed by representatives of both engaged groups, in the Imperial city. Riften had their representative. For Bruma, it would be either the Yvara or Marisia. So the Brotherhood had killed Yvara. Marisia would have to travel to the Imperial City, or the agreement would be dead on the paper. She would have to travel the road. That's what they wanted. And that's where they would strike.

Sharah eased down on her pallet, oddly calm. They were going to get their chance…and so would she. Sharah closed her eyes and breathed deep. She was completely calm, completely cold. Let Marisia sleep a bit longer. The inevitable would come soon enough. And Sharah was ready to step into whatever it was fate had in store for her.

**Please review and let me know what you thought.**


	22. Shadows and Shades

**YEAH! Another update at last. And doubtless the one several of you have been waiting for. I know, I've been a while. But I hope it will all be worth it. And wordcount-wise, this is the longest chapter yet. Super props to my new Beta, Aletheya. So if anything slipped through...blame her ;P (Naw. Aletheya, you know I love you.)**

**So read it. Lucien's back. Let me know what you think and hopefully the next update will be faster.**

**OH! One last thing...We crested 50 views on Ch 21. OMG! I'm so happy! Thanks everyone for reading!**

The group left Bruma under cover of darkness: Lady Marisia, her Fighters Guild bodyguard, and a ten man escort of members of the Bruma Guard. All but one of them were on edge, watching every flickering shadow on the sides of the road, jerking quickly to any abrupt sound. The bodyguard was utterly calm, scanning their surroundings with almost disinterest although she did keep a tight grip on her light iron shield.

Fanar and Hagrad had departed early the previous morning, likely seeking to avoid being caught in the crossfire when the assassins did what everyone expected of them: to attack on the road. Their cowardly departure had earned a contemptible curl of the lip from Sharah the Wolf. Meanwhile, Marisia had earned a new respect when she mounted her horse without hesitation. In spite of her fear, she rode out from the protection of her castle and placed her life in the hands of her guards.

The company traveled the road, hoping the night would provide some protection. They tried to depend on the light of the moons to see their way, too hesitant to light torches. And the only sounds were the gentle clopping of their horses' hooves and the clanking of the soldiers' heavy armor.

Under nature's cover, there was a creak of string stretching and wood bending, a breath drawn into and trapped within a still form, the brush of a feather upon a cheek. A cold calculating mind judged which would be its target's last breath. The form held, still as a statue until the chosen moment. Then the string slipped free of its restraining fingers, thrusting the thin wooden shaft forward, its steel point slicing through the air with barely a sound. Death was in flight.

_Clang! _

Metal sang against metal as the arrow clattered off the shield that had been raised to intercept at precisely the right instant. "Take Lady Marisia and keep moving!" Sharah barked and drove her heels into the horse's sides, streaking into the dark from which the shot had come.

XXX

The assassin withdrew into the forest when he realized his shot had failed with the intent of positioning himself further along the road for another attempt. He was not surprised to hear the sounds of pursuit on horseback behind him. He was surprised when the pursuit did not fall off after several minutes, instead getting louder as the rider drew near, undeterred by the pitch black or the wild landscape. His withdrawn quickly turned into a strategic retreat, attempting to both shake pursuit and achieve a superior position. Both proved difficult. The hoofbeats grew louder until they were close enough to run him down.

At the last moment, the assassin used the trunk of a tree to propel himself sideways just as a horse rushed past…riderless. He didn't even have the instant to figure through the ramifications before something struck him from behind and sent two bodies tumbling out into a clearing. They rushed to their feet and the assassin grasped for his bow. But his fingers only found empty air. The night air was split by a resounding crack as his mark's bodyguard snapped the weapon across her knee, having snatched it from his person when they collided. She tossed the two halves away and they stood regarding each other. He saw no mere bodyguard, and she her first true Dark Brotherhood assassin.

The bodyguard spoke first, "You're the one sent for Marisia?"

He considered, and then nodded. "And you're the one sent to protect her?"

She returned the gesture.

They began to circle, taking in their opponent. The similarities were remarkable. Both light on their feet, both dark garbed for speed and agility over brute strength. But there were some subtle differences. She was equipped for battle: sword and shield and dagger. He with two particularly long daggers with special advantages of their own. He had reach and weight on her. But that was no reason to think she couldn't give as good as she got.

The two of them took a few more steps. Then the assassin took off through the forest. The bodyguard followed close. The forest was a setback. His long strides were broken by the tree trunks. Her shorter legs could manage full lengths in close quarters and they pumped fast, keeping up with him despite the seeming deficiency. They ran until the woman's footsteps, however light and quiet, were close enough to be considered dangerous. Then the assassin used the same motion as before and turned to face her. Assassin and bodyguard circled again, each watching for some potential opening.

"You're not going to get her," she told him.

The assassin smiled, "And you're going to stop me?"

He sprinted into the forest without waiting for an answer. A third race through the trees, the assassin in the lead and the bodyguard close behind. They kept pace with each other until the mer once again whirled in some clear spot and they faced off once again.

"I drove you from her chamber, didn't I?" she replied to his previous question, only slightly out of breath.

His smile turned grim, "That was a lucky opportunity. I was unprepared. Not so now."

"You couldn't land your first shot. And now you won't have another."

"My bow is but one of my weapons," he assured her, "Breaking it won't save her. It just means she'll see her death coming. If you had let me strike her on the road, she wouldn't have felt a thing. Now I'll just have to be up close when I kill her."

This time it was the bodyguard who smiled, "I thought as much."

He frowned, "What did you think?"

Her smile became cruel, "You're alone out here."

The assassin faltered for an instant, then regained his composure, "So are you."

"Oh, I wanted you out here. If you were matched against a dozen or so city guards, you'd just turn tail and be out of reach until you had some clever plan of attack."

He eyed her, "Just who do you think has been leading whom? We're a long way from the road. A long way from your charge and my mark. And your horse nowhere in sight. All I need is for you to lose track of me. Just for an instant. I'll kill Lady Marisia before you can get back to her."

Their relationship had taken a unique turn. Out in the wilderness, each intent on the other's death, there seemed no reason to withhold information. No point not to be straight with one another.

"But you won't."

"Oh? What makes you so sure?"

The bodyguard replied, "Because it's just me. A dozen or more guards might be too much for any sensible killer to handle. But one opponent? Far more reasonable for a fight. So, you can try that dodge and weave routine again if you'd like. But I'm not going to lose track of you. I can promise you that. Or we can both do what we know is going to happen anyway. Because you may have wanted me away from Lady Marisia, but I wanted you further from Bruma. So now that we've both gotten what we wanted, let's stop all the running and try to kill each other already."

The assassin's eye cocked. She was not some ordinary bodyguard. After a wordless agreement, the assassin tossed away his quiver and the bodyguard doffed her shield. They both drew their blades, one in each hand and returned to circling each other.

At an identical instant, they engaged. The two traded six blows and then leapt apart, circling and taking account. Then attacked again. Her size belied her speed and strength. And she knew how to use all of them. And she had the rare ability to command both arms as if completely separate entities. Her longsword followed the sweeping motions that kept him out of close range, while her dagger flashed as fast as his did, denying him when he did manage to bypass the longsword. He, on the other hand, wielded his daggers in a continuous rush, waiting for his opening. The assassin was best with a bow, but the twin blades were a close second. And all he needed was one good strike.

First blood was his. His dagger's edge swept at her right elbow above the bracer, parting the leather and flesh before she struck at him with the sword and drove him back. She repaid him by flicking a fireball down the length of her dagger and scorching his shoulder all the way through his armor when he attempted to avoid it. The assassin had never seen a maneuver like that and took note to avoid a possible repeat.

They engaged twice more as previous: converge, barely half a dozen moves, and then leaping apart to circle. It was after two such exchanges that he saw her first faltered step. The assassin did not press his advantage. In fact, he kept on the defensive if he could help it. No sense getting hurt when victory was just around the corner.

The bodyguard watched him, then her eyes widened slightly and she chanced a glance at the wound on her elbow. So she realized. The assassin continued their circle, twirling his blooded dagger once, not above adding dramatic effect, "It's not as potent as what I put in the Lady's meal. But I doubt you'll last beyond morning. Even if I don't kill you here. And I guess you don't have that amulet on you."

The bodyguard tried to keep her steps deliberate, but the poison was running through her veins thanks to all this exertion, intensifying the effect. When she stumbled, then the assassin did press his advantage. The bodyguard fell back, fending off his blows with increased desperation. He let her retreat. She wouldn't run, out of pride, and he intended to kill her for the sake of his.

A precise hit and her dagger went sailing off into the darkness while the bodyguard collapsed on the ground. The assassin stepped around the range of her sword, waiting. She watched him, breathing hard, then struck out at his legs. The assassin leapt over the deadly edge and descended on her with his dagger intent on piercing her heart, almost sorry that their duel had to end.

Then she moved, rolling so fast as to disappear and revealed where she had been lying: directly on top of his discarded quiver. Pain bloomed in his calf as he felt one of his arrows pierce him. The assassin fell to his knees, the bodyguard lunged forward and the last thing he knew was a smashing pain as the sword's hilt hit his head.

He came to with something being poured down his throat. The assassin immediately coughed and tried to stimulate his gag reflex, but was unable before a hand was clapped over his nose and mouth, forcing him to swallow what he had. "I'd keep that down if I were you. Assuming you poison your arrow along with your daggers." He choked once. Twice. And when his chest started to seize she let him go. "Good," the bodyguard said, "And don't you worry about me. I've been carrying more than one antidote on my person ever since your first attempt on Marisia. I'll be just fine." She smiled and then turned her attention to the wound on her arm. While she cast a restoration spell on her skin, the assassin shifted only to realize that he was bound, his arms pulled taut around a thick tree trunk and tied fast. He pulled experimentally and realized she had bound him with his own leather belt.

She looked up from her healing and he ceased moving. They remained looking at each other for a moment before he said, "If you think to torture me, I will tell you nothing. So you may as well kill me."

The bodyguard replied, "I have no intention of killing you. In fact, I want you to make it back to wherever your little Brotherhood is hiding. Unless you'd rather die than face them with failure. But that's your call. I intend to leave you very much alive.

"And why is that?"

"So you can go back to them, and tell them that the contract against Lady Marisia Carvain is over."

The assassin laughed, "You think it is over just because you say so. The moment I get loose, don't doubt that I will finish my job."

The look on her face was one that sent a chill up his spine. "No, you won't. But we'll get to that later. Return the gold if you wish. But you will tell your Brotherhood that this contract is over."

The assassin glared at her, "Hear this. Lady Marisia's fate is sealed. A contract with the Dark Brotherhood is more than just blood for gold. It is a pact with the Void itself. The gold is nothing. A contract is only over once blood and souls have been paid. Sithis accepts nothing less. Lady Marisia will be sent to the Void, either by me or by another. It's only a matter of time. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

The bodyguard let him talk while she retrieved her shield from the ground. "You've already taken a soul for your deity. Leave Marisia be. But if you need an incentive to call it quits…" The woman swung her shield hard, crushing one of his bound hands between the unyielding iron and the solid wood. He let out a shriek that shattered the quiet of the forest and frightened sleeping birds into flight. He could barely feel his hand for all the pain, but he didn't need to to know that she had crushed nearly every bone in his hand. And the bright crimson blood on her shield contrasted against the silvery iron surface.

The bodyguard let him recover for a couple minutes. "I know your Brotherhood doesn't give up easily. But I'm Fighters Guild. I know about contracts and the Brotherhood is a business, isn't it? And if a contract no longer benefits your client, then that's reason enough to break the thing. The Void has its soul since you killed Yvara Channitte. And after Lady Marisia finishes in the Imperial City, the Black-Briars won't get what they want, even if you do kill her. But if you feel the need to keep at it…" She swung her shield again and another shriek broke the silence.

The bodyguard waited until he stopped whimpering and then grabbed a handful of his hair and shoved his face up against the trunk. Then she leaned in and said calmly in his ear, "Whoever comes after Lady Marisia, I'm not going to kill them. Not if I can help it. I'll send them back to your Brotherhood like I'm going to send you. Broken. In fact, if you don't get to healer soon, and a good one, I doubt you'll get much use of your hands at all. You certainly won't be shooting a bow again. I wonder how useful you'll be to your Brotherhood when you can't even hold a weapon."

She let him go and walked out in front of him. The assassin breathed through his teeth, glaring at her through the pain in his hands which intensified as his weight hung from the restraints. The bodyguard lifted his daggers from where they had been laying on the ground. "Since you made me lose my dagger, I'm going to take one of yours as a replacement." She slid the dagger into is sheath and tucked it into her belt.

His second one she drew and hurled at the tree, lodging the point deep in the wood about four feet over the leather strap that bound the assassin's now ruined hands. "I'll just leave that there. You're a stubborn elf. You'll get out before too long. And your leg won't keep you from getting…wherever you're going. Just remember to tell your Brotherhood about this contract, and what I'll do if you keep coming."

The bodyguard turned her back on the bound, wounded assassin and disappeared into the forest, leaving him to make his painful way free and back to his Brotherhood.

XXX

The company continued on when Sharah had taken off in pursuit of the assassin, but the soldiers formed up tight around the lady and picked up their pace. They all jumped when the first scream broke the night's silence. They all tensed up and glanced between each other uncertainty. The second scream did nothing to ease their anxieties.

"Maybe we should send someone after her?" one of the guards ventured.

Their commander shook his head, "No, we have to keep going. She…she knew what she was doing." Marisia said nothing so they stayed steady, keeping to the road and keeping up their pace.

In the wee hours of the morning, Sharah the Wolf broke from the bushes just ahead of them. There was a tear on the arm of her armor and she was breathing hard, but otherwise she seemed unharmed.

Marisia leaned forward, "Sharah, what happened? Did you catch him?"

Sharah did not answer her, but addressed the commander of the company, "Send one of your men back to Bruma. Tell Captain Burd to watch the Chapel or anywhere else someone would go for healing. If a Bosmer comes in with damaged hands, he needs to be arrested for attempting to kill Lady Marisia."

One of the men was dispatched quickly and galloped back the way they had come. Sharah lifted her legs a few times in an effort to alleviate the strain from her speedy travel to catch up with them.

Lady Marisia once again addressed her bodyguard, "Sharah…where is your horse?" It was clear that wasn't the question on her mind, but she asked it anyway.

"I lost it in pursuit. It might wander back to Bruma, or Chorrol, or Bravil. But I'll be without a steed at least until we reach the Imperial City. On that note, we should get going before the Brotherhood gets the chance to send someone else."

Lady Marisia nodded, "Will you ride with me then?"

Sharah smiled, "I would be honored, my Lady. Thank you."

Lady Marisia removed her foot from one stirrup and allowed Sharah to mount herself up behind her. Lady Marisia's horse was one from the north, built more for strength and stamina over speed and agility than the mount Sharah had ridden. So it was able to carry the two women, garbed light as they were.

After they had gotten going, Lady Marisia looked back and asked again quietly, "What happened?"

Sharah replied wearily, "I sent the Dark Brotherhood a message. Let's leave it at that."

They rode into the day, the guards tense and waiting for the next attack. This time, two among the company were at ease. Sharah knew the state of things and that they'd at least make it to the Imperial City before the Dark Brotherhood could make another move. Lady Marisia relaxed for an entirely different reason: because Sharah the Wolf dozed off behind her. The Wolf of Cyrodiil could not fall asleep if she was worried, and that was all the reassurance she needed.

XXX

The trade agreement was signed and sealed in a timely manner and before all the necessary official and important people. Sharah didn't pay much attention. She was just a shadow on the wall as far as any of them were concerned. Hagrad the Idiot didn't add to their previous dispute. Sharah didn't get the chance to go looking for the Gray Fox. And Sharah sent a messenger hawk to Oreyn in Chorrol detailing their progress. They left the Imperial City after a week and returned to Bruma, all without any incidents. Lady Marisia was very clearly relieved to see the castle walls again. Countess Narina met her on the front stair and Sharah gave them the privacy of their reunion by turning her attention to Captain Burd.

He was a changed man. Utterly and completely. He was pale, there was a tremor in his hands. He looked like he hadn't slept since they'd departed. And behind his eyes she saw a broken man. And Lieutenant Gerich Senarel was right beside him, looking justifiably concerned for his captain.

For all Sharah noted the changes, she made no outward indication, "Did that guard get back alright?"

Captain Burd nodded, "And just in time. Such a mer was brought to the chapel after daybreak. We tried to arrest him, and his associate."

"Tried?" Sharah asked.

His expression took on a brutal undertone she hadn't thought him capable of, "They resisted. The assassin was killed. His associate escaped."

Sharah didn't want to know how the assassin had died or if it had been intentional. She couldn't fault him for wanting to take revenge on the one who murdered his wife, but it clearly hadn't helped the captain. "Did anyone see the associate?"

Captain Burd shook his head, "Nothing but a black robe. Couldn't even get a race or gender. Could be anyone."

"So, I guess we'll wait and see if they send another. Now that the agreement's in place, maybe they'll back off. I'll assume I'm still contracted to guard the lady until we're sure."

The Captain grunted and went to check on the company that had returned with them. Sharah caught Lieutenant Senarel before he could follow. "How is he doing?" Sharah asked, flicking her eyes to Captain Burd.

The Lieutenant hesitated, then sighed, "Not good. I've never seen him work so hard. Reorganizing patrols, scouring every inch of the castle…He's taken a pallet across the Countess's door, like you did for Lady Marisia. He says it's for added protection but I think…" He hesitated, just like Ragar Left-Hearing and S'Kasha when they hadn't wanted to divulge their personal opinions in regards to their superiors.

"Lieutenant, just say it. He'll not hear it from me," she urged.

Senarel kept himself from glancing at the Captain, "I think he's just avoiding the chamber he shared with Ysara. He's been driving himself hard, keeping busy. But...he can't keep going like this. And when he finally slows down, I don't know what's going to happen."

Sharah looked over at Captain Burd who was looking about the high castle walls, his motions more jerky than when last she had seen him. Poor man. She knew where he was: feeling responsible and alone, trying to think of anything but the infinite ocean of 'what-if's. Sharah wish she could help him, wished she could tell him it would be alright. But she didn't know. It had taken her four and a half years and a good long cry with someone for the ache to be anything but sharp and painful.

And she really couldn't spare the time to come up with some heart-to-heart, even if his stubborn Nord blood would permit him to take the help. Sharah was growling to herself more often as of late. It aggravated her that she was not free to go where she would or do what she could for the people in her life. The Fighters Guild, the Gray Fox, and now Captain Burd. No, she was stuck in Lady Marisia's shadow because, contract aside, the Dark Brotherhood was even more of a threat to her now. The only assassin they knew of was dead. The Brotherhood would likely retaliate for their member's death. And Sharah and everyone else could only assume that the contract on Lady Marisia was still on. Another growl resonated in Sharah's throat. She'd give a great deal to know what was happening amidst the guild of assassins right now.

XXX

"I want the bitch dead!"

Lucien arrived at their Listener's dwelling in time to hear the heated outburst of his Dunmer colleague. The mer was known for his temper, but Lucien would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing the Dunmer worked up. Arquen and Ungolim were quite focused on the raging Dunmer, but Lucien traded a cordial nod with J'Ghasta before going to lean on the wall in his accustomed place. Meanwhile, Alval Uvani continued to rant.

"I want her dead. Gutted. Bleeding out. Ripped apart." There was magicka sparking at his fingertips as though it couldn't decide what destructive force to unleash or where to direct it.

Arquen pleaded, "Please, Uvani. Calm down."

He whirled on her, "That s'wit is going to get what's coming to her. When I get my hands on her, things are going to get messy!"

Lucien couldn't help his smirk, "It seems I've missed quite a story."

Uvani snarled at the Imperial, "Shut up, you!" The two of them had never been anything but bitter rivals.

J'Ghasta interceded, "You recall the Countess contract."

Lucien smiled, "Yes, and I recall our angry comrade was quite eager to take the job."

The Dunmer was too spitting mad to retort. Or stop moving for that matter.

"Well, the Countess hired a bodyguard to guard her sister. She prevented the attempts which led to the death of Uvani's Silencer."

"My condolences. Eradan was as good with a bow as he was with poison." In truth, Lucien didn't care a lick that Uvani had lost his Silencer. He did feel something toward the loss of a skilled assassin, however. Especially one who favored poisons as much as Lucien did. "So I assume this tantrum is directed toward the bodyguard. What is to become of her?"

Ungolim nodded, "We were just coming to that."

"She's dead! That's what we're going to do. I'm going to drag her out of that castle and see her suffer," Uvani raved.

Lucien spoke over the Dunmer's rant, "May I ask who has so incurred our colleague's wrath."

J'Ghasta replied, "Sharah the Wolf. A Fighters Guild member out of their headquarters."

Lucien's heart stopped.

Alval Uvani continued, "I'm going to kill her. Slow and painful."

"No!" Lucien snapped.

Every head in the room flicked up toward him. "And why not?!" Uvani demanded.

"Because she is mine," Lucien growled. The words spilled out of his mouth before he could think, "She is a member of my Sanctuary. The Tenets apply here. You'll not lay a hand on her." What was he saying? What was he thinking?

Uvani was the first to recover, "Tenets? You're citing the Tenets when your assassin broke them without any consideration!"

J'Ghasta cleared his throat pointedly, "Actually, she did not kill Eradan. His death came at the hands of the Bruma city guard. She did interfere with a brother on contract."

Ungolim replied, "Then this is another matter entirely. Not retribution, but punishment."

"A punishment I will merit out. She is my assassin. I will deal with her," Lucien insisted.

"Like hell you will," Uvani said, coming toward Lucien until they were inches apart, making apparent the height Lucien had on him, "It was my Silencer that was killed. Her punishment is mine to 'merit out'. You can have what's left of her back when I am done."

Lucien drew himself up and closed the distance between them until they were nose to nose with Lucien looking deliberately down at the mer, "You do any such thing and a dead Silencer will be the least of your worries, brother."

The air within the room was alive with malice as the two Speakers faced off. But Lucien was not backing down for any reason.

Arquen 'ahem'ed, "Perhaps this is a matter to be decided by our Listener." Lucien didn't even spare the attention to scoff. Kiss-ass Altmer. She'd been vying for Ungolim's favor and position for all the time he'd known her. But it didn't matter what their dear Listener or any of them said. They were not going to touch Sharah while he still drew breath.

Ungolim placed his hands on the table, trying to look authoritative, "When did you recruit this woman? It is standard to report new members."

Lucien did not break his glare with Uvani, "Recently. You'll forgive me for not alerting you to each action I take for my family." He didn't know what he was doing, lying to the Black Hand. But there was certainly no going back now.

Ungolim said, "Well, the first matter is the contract. There was a deadline attached. And thanks to your assassin, it has passed without the contract being fulfilled. Uvani, you will visit our client again and see to the particulars. And Lachance will go to deal with his assassin. I expect you both to remain professional. Uvani?"

The Dunmer said harshly, "If the punishment fits, then fine. But it had better fit."

"Lachance?…Lachance."

Lucien growled, "I will choose the punishment she will suffer. Is it not your policy that each Speaker should manage their Sanctuaries and assassins separately?"

Ungolim had drilled that policy in hard under the guise that competition would only drive the Speakers and their assassins to improve. Lucien knew the truth. Ungolim had become insecure in his position and he didn't want his Speakers conspiring against him.

Ungolim shifted in his seat, "J'Ghasta, stay with them. I want no bloodshed within the Black Hand." J'Ghasta bowed in response. "Good, now on to the newest contracts."

The few contracts were dealt out, mostly to Arquen who was the only Speaker who was not going to Bruma. Never had a ride been so tense and rife with hostility. The Tenets were all that kept Uvani and Lachance from going at each other, given that they would both gladly kill each other at this point. Uvani took the attack on his Silencer as a personal assault and challenge by both Lucien and his 'assassin'. Not to mention Lucien's defense of Sharah despite her actions undoubtedly did not sit well with the Dunmer.

Lucien, on the other hand, had a personal stake in their conflict. His attachment to Sharah had not faded in the slightest since the night he'd kissed her. Often times his hand would stray to the scrap of cloth in his pocket that had served as her blindfold. He would finger the material and recall how she had felt against him, how she'd smelled and tasted, and how he wanted her under his arm again. She was important to him. Vitally so. Important enough that he was willing to lie straight to the Black Hand. Night Mother forgive him for it. But he could do nothing less than protect her as he could.

The Speakers made good time to Bruma, and arrived without doing any harm to one another. J'Ghasta checked in briefly with his Sanctuary and in the dead of night the three Speakers made their way to the castle that loomed over the city of Bruma.

"So," Uvani sneered, "Shall we see your rogue assassin first? Or shall we save that for last?"

Lucien maintained his composure, "The first matter is the client and contract. Ungolim said so himself."

The justification kept Uvani quiet until they reached the castle gates, necessity kept him silent inside. The guards were easy enough to avoid. In spite of the apparent increase in security, the guards were tiring of their vigilance after weeks of looking over their shoulders. The assassins made their way to the dungeon. Lucien cast chameleon and knocked out the jailor with a sleeping draught held across his nose and mouth. J'Ghasta remained by the door to keep watch, and Uvani and Lachance ventured down through the cells in search of their target.

The Nord was lounging on his stone bed, bored and discontent. He sat up when he saw the two black cloaked figures at the door of his cell and adopted a truly haughty air when he recognized the Speaker who had answered his Black Sacrament, "Oh, it's you. What do you want?"

Uvani replied, "We're here to discuss our contract."

The Black-Briar laughed, "Right. The contract you failed at. And here I thought I was dealing with professionals. You said you were going to put your best man on it. I guess this is what I get for dealing with a grey-skin."

Alval Uvani sneered, but kept himself from an outburst, "There were…"he glanced toward Lucien, "…complications. But the Brotherhood intends to do what we can to make up for our failings."

The Black-Briar snorted and stood up, "Too late for that. Didn't you hear? That trade agreement's gone through. Now the Legion's gonna be all over it. You were supposed to kill her before that happened. So unless you can kill off an army of soldiers and merchants, there's really nothing you can do for us. In fact, if you ever want any work from the Black-Briars again, you'll get me out of this cell."

"We are not here to break you out of jail," Lucien remarked.

The Nord looked back at him, "Who's this milk-drinker?"

"A colleague," Uvani said crossly, "But he has a point. We arrange assassinations, not jail breaks."

The Black-Briar chuckled gruffly and started pacing, talking to himself as well as them, "This is what I get for being caught on this side of the border. This wouldn't have happened in Riften. I'd have been dealing with real businessmen. Not some poor excuse for thugs who couldn't even bloody the bitch. You had weeks and you still couldn't do it. So if you're not going to bust me out, then get lost."

Uvani sneered, "The Dark Brotherhood does not break contracts. We will kill your mark."

"And what good would it do? No, we're done."

Lucien was his opening and arced his eyebrow almost hopefully, "Are you retracting our contract?"

The Black-Briar said mockingly, "Yes. I am retracting our contract. So take your ashlander-ass out of here and your milk-drinker with you. You bunch of low lives and your pathetic Brotherhood. Trusting your business to failed thieves and weak elves and—"

The Nord's spouting was silenced for good by a violent bolt of lightning that arched through the bars. Alval Uvani got a grim look of satisfaction that often followed the instants when his temper snapped. Behind him, Lucien had the same look in his eyes. When a contract was agreed upon, the soul of the marked was promised to the Void. But there was a closely guarded secret: if a contract failed or was retracted, the price fell upon the client instead. A closely guarded secret kept within the Black Hand. And no civilian knew because no one lived to tell of it. "I suppose that concludes our business."

Uvani growled back at his counterpart, "Shut up, you. Now we see to that assassin of yours."

Lucien became serious, "I will meet her alone."

"So you can give her some slap on the wrist. Or more likely a congratulations for besting my Silencer."

Lucien replied, "We've already seen what happens when you lose your temper. I'll not have it happen again tonight. Regardless of what she's done, she is more useful in working order. You have done your part here. I will deal with her."

Another glaring match between the Speakers, oblivious to the dead body in the cell beside them. It was interrupted when J'Ghasta leaned around the corner, "Jailor shift is due soon. It's time to leave."

Lucien didn't break eye contact with the Dunmer, "Uvani is going back with you, J'Ghasta. I will meet you when I have finished with my assassin."

Lucien strode off without another word, but looked back once he was in the outside hallway. He paused, cast his chameleon and waited until Uvani and J'Ghasta exited the dungeon doorway. Uvani paused, looking dangerously eager to go further into the castle. There were some whispers passed between the two of them, heated on Uvani's side, insistent on J'Ghasta's before both made their way to the exit. Lucien sighed with relief as they vanished from view. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to see Sharah face to face. His ruse would be discovered, she'd probably be killed, and Lucien would certainly be punished. And not just with a demotion.

But he couldn't fake her membership forever. Eventually, someone would find out. Perhaps, if he could talk to her, convince her to join them legitimately. It was his best chance. And hers as well.

Lucien made his way to the Lords Manor portion of the castle, avoiding the patrols as they came. There weren't many given the hour, so he found the bedrooms without being interrupted. He cast an 'open' spell on two doors before he found the one he wanted. The chamber had a fore-room before the bedchamber, but it was not grand enough to be the countess's. Sharah was not in immediate view. And if she was as dutiful in her task as he thought, then she was likely in the next room.

The Speaker took deliberate steps toward the door, but he felt as though a cold cord were constricting around his neck. And as he got closer, it was harder to move. Lucien managed to close his hand around the door handle before he stopped completely. Endless minutes he spent standing at the threshold but unable to open the door.

It could be a spell, some preventative enchantment. Or he could be nervous about seeing her again. After last time, Lucien wasn't so sure what was magic and what was him when it came to Sharah. Would she know him from that night in Chorrol? How would she react when he told her it was he who had kissed her and then taken her home? Or how he'd been keeping track of her very carefully these last few months, never asking himself, but marking the rumors and word that spread?

And then there was the Brotherhood. What would he tell her about that? That he'd faked her membership and the only way for her to live was to join them in actuality? How would she react to that? Would it change her answer if he said he would be nearby when she was one of them?

Lucien's hand tightened around the handle…then he let it go. He couldn't do it, yet. Night Mother forgive him but…he needed more time. Just a bit more. He _would_ recruit her. And he _would_ bring her into the family. Just not yet. He couldn't quite command himself around her yet. But he swore it would not be long. He just needed a bit more time.

Now there was the Black Hand to deal with. Alval Uvani and J'Ghasta were waiting in J'Ghasta's town house when Lucien arrived. The Dunmer looked eagerly at Lucien, particularly at his hands, doubtless seeking blood on his gloves. "That was quick. I hope you didn't make too much noise. Or is the show yet to come?"

Lucien ignored his comments, "I said her punishment would be mine to choose. And I say that she will be shaded."

Uvani's face contorted into his typical fury, "WHAT?! She kills my Silencer and you punish her with some inflated suspension?!"

Lucien continued undeterred, "She will pay the Void Price as is customary. And until then all of the Brotherhood will refrain from contact with her. That is the punishment I chose and you will respect my authority in regards to my assassin."

The Dunmer was spitting mad, magicka once again sparking at his fingertips. Only this time he had a target in mind, "You _S'WIT_!"

"And she did not kill your Silencer, Uvani."

"She _CRUSHED_ his _HANDS,_ Lachance! That Sharah is going to bleed if I have to drag her through the streets myself. And _DAMN_ your shading!"

Even J'Ghasta was unimpressed with Lucien's decision and stood well out of the way in case Uvani chose to do damage in retaliation. Lucien held his ground, "She is mine. I will do as I wish with her."

"She broke a Tenet! She betrayed the Brotherhood when she ruined my Silencer. Even if she didn't slit his throat herself. That is Black Hand business and I will do what is called for if you won't!"

Lucien countered, "She interfered with a contract. That is the responsibility of her Speaker. And that is I and not you."

Uvani sneered, "Not if another Speaker objects. And if your punishment is a shading, the Listener will accept, and there is no one on the Black Hand that will vote with you. Then it'll only be a matter of time before she's all mine. And I'll do more than just break her hands."

These were no empty threats or idle maneuvering. If Uvani received the authority of punishment, Sharah would suffer worse than death by him, if only to spite Lucien. But Lucien had one more card to play. "You are in need of a new Silencer, are you not?"

The abrupt change in subject caught Uvani slightly off guard. He looked suspiciously at Lucien, "What of it?"

The Imperial shrugged, "I merely mean to say that a Speaker should not be without his claw. And I just so happen to have an assassin who is due for such an advancement…if you were interested."

Uvani's brow raised, then his suspicion redoubled, "Which assassin?"

"Mathieu Bellamont."

The whole house became quiet as even the magicka at the mage's fingers stopped cracking.

Uvani finally smirked, "You would offer me the pearl of your Sanctuary?"

"Provided you respect my authority and support my decision in this matter."

Uvani chuckled, so smug and well-pleased that it even made J'Ghasta grimace. Everyone on the Black Hand had grown envious of Lucien's ambitious family member. But given Ungolim's policy of non-interference between Speakers and Sanctuaries, none of the others could make offers to Lucien's assassin. So it was assumed that Bellamont would find his way to the Black Hand under Lucien's authority.

The Breton assassin was a juicy card to play. Not only would Uvani gain a prime killer under his command, but he would do so to Lucien's detriment. And that was worth more to him than revenge against Sharah. At least so long as he was unaware of Lucien's personal interest in her. That was the only reason this would work.

Uvani paced back and forth, tapping his lip. He glanced toward Lucien, "This must be pretty important to you."

"I want my authority respected," Lucien replied.

The Dunmer kept walking, "So if I don't object and accept your shading, you'll give me Mathieu Bellamont as my Silencer?" Lucien nodded. Uvani stopped abruptly, "I will dictate the Void price, however."

Lucien's eyes narrowed, "And what might that be?"

Uvani thought for a moment, then smirked, "Twenty-five souls."

Even J'Ghasta blanched. "That's far in excess," the Khajiit insisted.

Uvani rounded on him, "You think my Silencer was worth any less than that?" He turned back to Lucien, "She pays twenty-five souls to the Void before her shading is lifted."

Lucien didn't even hesitate, "Done."

Both his fellow Speakers were surprised. The Dunmer's smirk widened, "This must be very important to you."

"I know my assassin is capable. And I want this done with. So, are we agreed?"

Uvani nodded, "We can clear it with the Listener immediately. But I want my Silencer first."

"No," Lucien stated, "We see Ungolim and get this matter settled beyond doubt. Then we go to Cheydinhal where I will personally introduce you to your new Silencer."

Uvani's satisfaction would have made any High Elf twitch, but he agreed. After all, he was coming out on top of the deal as far as he was concerned. And Lucien was more than willing if it would give him time to secure Sharah properly.

J'Ghasta was far easier to convince. The unheard of Void-Price did that for him. And with two Speakers to side with Lucien on the matter, only Ungolim's final say could possibly prevent it. And he would not chance setting the Speakers against him by refusing the majority decision. And Arquen was too much of a fawning head-bobber to make waves. So it was just a matter of seeing this through.

"I have one last piece of business here. After that, we can return to Bravil as soon as you are ready."

Uvani's smirk never dimmed, "Of course. I am most eager to see this…settled." And eager to start rubbing Lucien's nose in his loss no doubt. Let him. Lucien would consider himself well rewarded for the price he paid.

The Imperial assassin left the house alone. Doubtless Uvani would start conspiring at J'Ghasta as to what made Lucien so willing to sacrifice for the sake of Sharah's punishment. But he would do nothing but speculate. Lucien would certainly not tell him. And as per the rules, a shading forbad any contact between the shaded and the Dark Brotherhood until the Void-Price was paid and accepted by that one's Speaker. It effectively isolated the individual from the family and cut them off from the support and security that the Brotherhood provided. Even if Uvani met Sharah on the street, he could not speak to her regarding the family, nor she to him. At least that was the idea. He'd never know that she would not speak of it because she didn't know what was going on in the shadows around her.

Lucien would handle the details of informing her later, after he recruited her. For now, he just wanted to find some way to reassure her that she needn't search for daggers in the dark any longer. He might not have the ability yet to speak to her directly, but perhaps that was for the best. She'd count him an enemy at first sight, given the contract against the one she guarded. But there were other ways to communicate.

Lucien Lachance made his way to Olav's Tack and Tavern, knowing where to find the one he was looking for. The tavern was mostly empty, and Lucien managed to find a seat out of view without being noticed by the few more loyal late night customers. He sat down in the shadows only long enough to write as clear a message as he could think of before rolling it up and sealing it with a tiny dollop of wax from the candle on the table. Then Lucien vanished within his chameleon spell and approached a weary looking old Nord at one of the tables from behind. Speakers needed to know at least the basics of all aspects within all major cities. Including the local thieves guild contact.

The Nord flinched as Lucien wrapped a hand around his throat and tightened his grip just enough to keep the old man quiet. Lucien bent to his ear and whispered pitilessly, "You will not speak. You will listen." The assassin waited for an instant to be sure he had the Nord's full attention. "You will deliver this to the Sharah the Wolf," Lucien said, setting the rolled scroll before the man, making it look as though it had appeared from thin air. The Nord nodded his head just barely enough to feel under Lucien's hold.

He wanted to add something more. 'You will tell her it is from a friend'. Or bolder still, 'from an admirer'. 'You will tell her I'll be keeping an eye on her'. 'You'll tell her she should choose her enemies more wisely'. In the end, Lucien left it at that. He released his grip, feeling the skin stick slightly to the not quite dry ink on his hand. An added bit of dramatization that would serve his purpose. He had no reason to believe that she would trust the message. But he couldn't leave without giving her some reassurance that she need no longer be on guard against the Brotherhood.

The assassin returned to the J'Ghasta's home. Uvani just couldn't keep that smile off his face, "Shall we go?"

Lucien nodded, "If you do not wish rest first, then yes."

"Oh, no. I am most excited, and eager to be off."

Lucien led the way out the door. He would not be satisfied until he had heard Ungolim himself agree to the shading and accept the Void-Price. Then there would be the detail of giving Mathieu Bellamont his promotion. The Breton would doubtless accept. He was ambitious. The majority of the Brotherhood did not even know about the Silencers, and Lucien had certainly made no mention that he had considered taking Bellamont as his in the future. So there was no reason for him to refuse the to take the position under Uvani. It was a promotion to the Black Hand. The detail of his acceptance was already fixed.

And that detail would secure Sharah's shading and keep her safe from harm or dealings with the Dark Brotherhood for the foreseeable future. At least so long as she did not end up at odds with future contracts. Lucien kept his peace, but inside he worried. There were so many ways this could go wrong. She would need Sithis himself watching over her for this to work smoothly.

Lucien just prayed the Dread Father would consider her his child so long as Lucien fully intended on bringing her into the Brotherhood. And he did. He just…needed a bit longer to compose himself. Certainly Sithis would recognize that this was Lucien's weakness and little to do with her.

Lucien sighed inwardly. How far gone was he that he was willing to defend Sharah before the Dread Father himself? What did it matter when Lucien could do nothing to pull himself back? He just needed a bit more time. What was a few weeks or months to the Master of the Void? He just needed a bit more time.

**Alright, Dark Brotherhood policies. Now we know why Mathieu was promoted (at least in this version). We'll get back to the Fighters Guild soon enough. Goodness knows Sharah is ready to get out of that castle. How did the Black Hand seem to you folks? Good, bad, petty? I'd love to hear your thoughts so I can make improve them.**


	23. One Shadow Passes as Another Looms

**Merry Christmas! And here's a Christmas update. I hope all y'all's holidays have been wonderful. Thanks for sticking with the story. Last call on the Poll. I'll start 'The Shadow of the Wolf' come the new year...unless there's a massive flow of 'no, don't do it!'**

**Read and review!**

_Sharah was sitting in her childhood home again with tears coursing down her face. Tears of fear and shame. She'd broken something of Father's. She hadn't meant to. But it happened anyway. He was going to be so angry. And that was going to be very, very bad. The last person Father got angry with…they didn't even find any of the pieces._

_She felt Him coming, her Father's presence drawing near. Sharah clapped her hands over her eyes in a child's attempt to hide; a 'he can't see me if I can't see him' mentality. But she knew it was useless. There was no running from His anger, and no hiding the evidence of what she'd done._

_She felt Him looming over her. Father was so great and powerful He could do nothing less than loom, whether He meant to or not. And she feared He meant to this time. Sharah quivered, fresh tears bursting forth as He slowly lowered Himself to her level, drawing out her fearful anticipation. She was absolutely terrified of what He was going to do. Father had to see what she'd done. It was all right there. And how could He be anything but furious?_

_Sharah sat there crying and shaking, and after a moment of nothing she dared to peek between her fingers. He was right in front of her, His face completely covered but His eyes undeniably on her. When her eyes were open, He lifted his hand. Sharah's shaking redoubled as her Father reached out toward her…and swept her offence out of sight beneath His robe._

_Then He raised His hand again and laid it upon her head. Sharah grew still, all of her shame and fear and despair numbed away at His touch. Her Father looked steadily at her. He knew what she had done. And He knew she hadn't done it intentionally, so He would forgive her this time. But she must not do it again._

_Sharah nodded mutely, hardly believing that her Father wasn't going to do something horrible to her for breaking what was His. Her Father patted her head and stood as her mother appeared from somewhere behind Him, "I am sure she will not, my love." She looked down at Sharah, still manipulating the black clad doll in her hands. "It won't be much longer," she reassured her child, "They're almost ready for you."_

Sharah came awake in the dark like she'd heard a lightning strike, but she felt…odd. The night of Ysara's murder, Sharah had had the sense that she was going to meet her destiny or that it was coming to meet her. But after she'd bested the assassin that path just vanished, leaving her with the drive to move toward something but no direction. Ever since she'd been anxious and impatient, alert and waiting for something to happen.

Now she woke and felt calm. Still alert but…at ease, like everything was working out whether she could see it or not. Sharah slipped out of her pallet and went to check Lady Marisia and the windows. Subconsciously, she had the feeling there was nothing to worry about. But sensibility told her to check anyway. Everything was fine. Sharah cast life-detect and then unlocked the bedchamber door to scan the fore-chamber. Again, nothing out of place.

She locked the door and lay down again. This sense of ease was going to make her careless if she let it. But Sharah just couldn't make herself get concerned. Maybe that thing of Burd's was getting to her. He'd been better the last few days. She'd heard Lieutenant Senarel had been talking about setting up some kind of intervention. But before he could go through with it, Captain Burd showed up one morning and looked better. Like he'd actually slept. He wasn't at full strength and was still keeping the whole castle under close scrutiny, and very rarely left the Countess's side. But he was more alert and at least seemed on the road back to his old self. He might never get all the way there but he was healing.

Sharah closed her eyes and tried to focus on that chilly numb on her senses. She'd been leaning on it all these weeks in Bruma, but even it gave her this strange sense of reassurance that all was well. Before long it told her something else as well. Her eyes flicked open. There was someone in the next room. She hadn't heard a sound. But she just knew there was someone there.

Sharah moved out of her pallet again and stood against the wall. She took Umbra's hilt out of habit, but didn't unsheathe it. Instinct told her there was no threat. Which she was pretty sure didn't make sense. The only other people with a key to the outside door on their person were Captain Burd and the head of the watch on duty. But they would knock. Any guard would. And yet there hadn't been a sound. But there was definitely someone in the fore-chamber.

Sharah stubbornly kept a hold of Umbra and descended further into the numb clarity…which assured her there was no danger. She stood suspended between being convinced that this had to be another assassination attempt, and a certainty that there was nothing to worry about even though there was merely a single door between her and whoever was on the other side. Sharah kept her eyes on the handle, waiting. The door didn't open, the handle didn't move. Then the presence vanished.

Sharah held her ground until she was certain, casting the life-detect spell she'd felt too secure to do before. Nothing and no one. But she suspected that the outside door would be unlocked when she checked. Who in Oblivion had it been? A thief? An assassin? And why hadn't she been more worried? Why _wasn't_ she more worried? Only the fact that she couldn't put her finger on her ease kept her wake for the next few hours. Even though she felt like she could fall so deep asleep that even a siege wouldn't wake her up. Or the knock that came at the outside door.

Sharah left the bedchamber, relocking as she did so, and answered the call. The lock on the front door was disengaged, as she'd suspected. And yet she still wasn't concerned about who'd done it.

A member of the night guard was there waiting in the hallway, "There's someone here asking for you."

Sharah raised an eyebrow, "At this hour? Who?"

The guard shrugged, "Some drunk by the smell of him. But he said it was vitally important and only for your eyes. He is being very insistent and won't leave."

Sharah considered. She didn't feel the usual concern about leaving Lady Marisia. But it was just asking for trouble to leave her unprotected. "Is there someone to guard her while I see to this?"

The guard nodded, "Of course."

Opening the door further, Sharah saw two guards behind the first, waiting to take up a post at the chamber door. Sharah stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind her. The guards took up position and Sharah followed the first to the entry hall of the castle.

Ongar was fidgeting as close to the exit as he could be and was keeping the attention of those guards on duty.

"Ongar, something I can do for you?" Sharah asked as she approached.

The Nord fence rubbed at his neck after he saw her, "You've got some scary friends, you know that?"

Sharah glanced at the soldiers, "They're not that bad. You're just making them nervous."

Ongar shook his head and held out a rolled up scroll. Sharah took it, broke the wax seal that had no emblem and opened it. The page bore the imprint of a hand in black ink and two elegantly scrawled words: 'contract retracted'. Sharah stared at it for a moment, then her head snapped up, "Did you see who gave it to you?"

Ongar shook his head, still rubbing at his throat, "No. Didn't see a thing. Came up from behind. He was scary as hell, I'll tell you that much."

Sharah eyed at where he was rubbing. She caught his wrist and moved it out of the way. The mark on the paper was stretched across his throat. Sharah met his eye, "Are you alright?"

Before he could answer there was a clamor at the door to the barracks. All those of the dawn shift were coming out in a hurry, and at least two hours before they were due. Lieutenant Senarel was among them and threw some last orders around before setting off for the Lord's Manor. He came to a halt when he saw her in the entry-hall.

"Sharah?! What are you doing out here? Where's Lady Marisia?" His demand was intense.

"I was called out here. She is in her chamber and has guards at her door."

The Lieutenant ordered, "Well, get back to her immediately."

Sharah shoved the scroll into her belt and followed him at a run, "Why? What's happened?"

Lieutenant Senarel replied, "Balfring Black-Briar was just found dead in his cell. The jailor was knocked out and no one saw anything. We need to secure the castle and everyone in it. I'm going to Captain Burd now."

"I'll check on Marisia. But then I'm going with you. I have a report of my own to give."

Lady Marisia was fine. Two more guards were posted in her fore-chamber as well as those in the hall. Then Sharah followed Lieutenant Senarel to the chamber of Countess Narina. He knocked hurriedly at the fore-chamber door and stood anxiously. Meanwhile, Sharah could not force herself to get excited over the development. Either in regards to the Black-Briar or the note from Ongar. If anything they reassured her that she was right not to be worried.

Captain Burd opened the door and was wearing a cloth jerkin and breeches and had his claymore tossed over his shoulders. Lieutenant Senarel reported on the death of the Black-Briar who had put the contract out on Lady Marisia. There really was no trace. The door hadn't been tampered with; there was no mark on his body. Sharah suspected poison or a spell. And if it had been a spell, then it must have been a very good mage. It took a lot of skill and precise magicka manipulation to kill with a spell without leaving a mark.

Captain Burd looked at Sharah and asked the same question Senarel had, "Why aren't you with Lady Marisia?"

"Someone from town came to deliver something to me."

"And you went? This could be a ploy to draw you away."

Sharah pulled out the scroll, "This was what he delivered."

Captain Burd took the scroll and pulled it open. He took the same pause that Sharah had needed at the first look. But the Captain didn't share her sense of calm. He came out of the pause like a charging bull, immediately calling for patrols and searches and a full sweep of the castle. Sharah stepped behind him into the fore-chamber to get out of the way as guards came and went at his call.

Narina's chamber was larger than Marisia's and the extra space was utilized. A well-used desk and a few high shelves were positively crammed full of books that ranged from lore to history to theology, and of course plenty of material on the Akaviri. Sharah had been here before, thieving a sheaf of paper with Gray during her training with him, but it was still a good show of how well-read Narina was.

Captain Burd finished with his directions and shut the door, then went back to glaring at the message from the Dark Brotherhood. Sharah stayed quiet and let him think. He wouldn't find anything vital on there. At first glance she knew the parchment was common, the ink plain, even the seal was just ordinary candle wax. There was nothing special. Just the symbol and the words, to be taken as the reader chose.

While the Captain continued his scrutiny, the bedchamber door opened. "Burd, has something happened?" Countess Narina Carvain came out of her private chamber with a fur clutched around her shoulders as though she wore nothing else, her bare shoulders providing evidence to that affect as well. The Countess saw Sharah in the room as well and froze on the spot, paling a few shades and looking like a startled deer.

Captain Burd looked up, confused as to what had startled the woman…then turned to Sharah and went rigid as well, like he'd entirely forgotten she had been there. Sharah glanced between the speechless captain, and the speechless and unclothed countess, and then back again. At closer inspection, Sharah realized the captain's clothes looked like they'd been put on in haste.

Oh. Oh, _damn_ her silent movement. For all that she was light on her feet, she'd really just stepped in this one. One of those closely guarded court secrets that could ruin reputations. Damn. Well, at least Captain Burd's recovery was no longer a mystery. Small victory…very small.

Sharah stood at ease and tried to look nonchalant, "There's been a development in regards to the Brotherhood business." _Please, let them act casual. Please, please, please, let them act as though nothing was out of the ordinary._ Awkward just made her skin crawl. Almost as much as the undead. _Please, please, please…_

The Countess cleared her throat, "Ahem…let me just…give me a moment."

Sharah gave a slight bow and Narina withdrew into her bedchamber quickly and shut the door. The warrior tried to stay casual, but she saw Burd's throat working like he was trying to think of something to say. She took the initiative on that, "I doubt tracking the note will produce anything. All the materials of the note are common. And I saw no defining marks except the obvious."

The Captain made some sound in the back of his throat. It might have been a word, but his mouth didn't open. Sharah silently thanked the Nine when Narina came back tying the sash of a robe she'd wrapped around herself, "So, what has happened?"

The Nord cleared his throat and responded, "Balfring Black-Briar is dead. We believe he was killed last night some time. And this note was delivered as well."

Narina took the parchment and scrutinized it the same, "Can we trust this? Who delivered it?"

Sharah replied, "Someone I know in town who would be sure to get it to me."

The Countess transitioned well into business, despite the previous bewildered embarrassment, "Can we trust this individual? Could they have written this themselves, or been put up to it?"

"He didn't do it for kicks. And it's always possible someone other than the Brotherhood could have sent this. But I don't think that's the case. They killed their client. That wasn't just for show."

"Are we certain the Dark Brotherhood did kill Balfring Black-Briar?" Narina considered.

Captain Burd replied, "We can't know for sure. But that's just their style."

Sharah said, "All the details say this is the Brotherhood calling it off."

"But we don't know for certain. They could be biding their time, giving us every reason to let down our guard," Narina said, "I will not take chances with my sister's life."

Sharah replied, "If you're expecting a member of the Dark Brotherhood to walk up and tell you himself that they have dropped the contract, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed." She hesitated for an instant. "There is something else…Look, I don't know how much you trust me…"

Narina was almost taken aback at Sharah's cautious wording, "Sharah, you have saved my sister's life three times. I do trust you."

Sharah ran her hand through her hair, trying to find a convincing way to say it. "Well, ever since I took this task I've been on guard. But when I last woke up, I felt like everything was fine. I have no evidence or explanation for it but…my instincts tell me that the danger has passed. And to me, that note and the Black-Briar's death just confirm it. That's all I can say. Do what you want with it."

Well that had sounded flimsy, even to her. 'I have a feeling everything's fine'. Did she really expect Narina to release her from the contract on Sharah's gut? Sharah could already feel the itch coming on again, and it had only been a few hours since she'd woken up with the revelation of calm. Already she wanted to be back with her guild keeping an eye on the Blackwood business and a dozen other things that were only now occurring to her.

But she couldn't abandon her post, even if she felt she was no longer needed. It was a contract. So she had a responsibility to see it through. Even if Sharah personally thought it was over and that there were more important places for her to be.

She could feel Narina and Captain Burd considering. Sharah hoped she had proven herself enough that her word would be worth something. But if it were her brother she was protecting, Sharah knew she'd need more than someone's instinctive feeling.

Narina's hesitation was long enough for Burd to say, "Go back to Marisia. We will consider everything and give you the decision when it is made."

Sharah didn't hear anything from Narina, so she bowed and went toward the door.

"Oh, Sharah," Narina called after her. The Countess's tone was once again a hint flustered, "About what you saw before…about the captain…being here…"

Sharah looked back at Captain Burd who was also trying to come up with some explanation beyond the obvious. Sharah then turned back to Narina and said deliberately, "I have no idea what you're talking about." Neither the Captain nor Countess knew what to say, so Sharah left before it got awkward again.

XXX

By the Nine, it was good to be back. The fair Chorrol weather, the familiar faces she hadn't seen in a month and a half, and the scent of the guildhall. Yes, she even missed that sweaty, musty smell of intensive training and the forge. It was very, very good to be back.

Oreyn was exactly where she'd expected him to be, in the guildmaster's office. "Welcome back, Wolf. You're looking well."

Sharah grinned, "Is that a comment on my new armor or the fact that I survived the contract."

It was very possible that Oreyn smiled, "Don't be pert."

"Who, me?" Sharah grinned, and twirled on the spot like she was showing off a new dress and couldn't help a giggle. It was wonderful to be back with the guild!

Oreyn shook his head and growled through what was definitely a smile he was hiding, "Sit down and report already."

She sat down, "Did you know about this? The armor, I mean?"

He sat back in his seat, "Burz gro-Khash asked for your most recent measurements a few months ago." The mer looked over the result, "I think it turned out well. And you've already managed to damage it."

Sharah flexed her elbow and the mend where the assassin's blade had cut, "Well, armor is meant to be used." Her face fell as she turned serious, "He made me lose your dagger. I made him regret it."

Oreyn set his elbows on the arms of the chair and laced his fingers together, "So let's hear about it, then. From start to finish."

Sharah didn't know how much Oreyn knew. Certainly Alderil had been kept informed in Bruma and he'd been sending word to Chorrol. So she just told about everything…well, almost everything. That little secret of Narina and Burd's was hers to keep to the grave. Sharah hoped they'd figured that out during her last days on duty.

Oreyn let her speak uninterrupted all the way to the end. "And why were you so certain about that note? Some…information you're not sharing?"

Sharah hadn't told him who had kept her informed about Bruma's comings and goings, and she knew he'd noticed. "Well, I don't know anyone in the Brotherhood if that's what you're asking. I just…my instincts have never steered me wrong. Not once. And I felt very strongly about this. I can't explain beyond that."

Oreyn grunted thoughtfully and nodded slowly, "Well, the Countess was convinced. That's enough for me."

"Although I doubt Marisia will be spending much time outside the castle for a while," Sharah added. They might have trusted her beliefs enough to let Sharah off the contract, but that didn't mean they were going to completely let down their guard. At least for a while.

"So how did you like being a bodyguard?"

Sharah shrugged, "It was something. Food was good, and aside from those intense moments it was pretty easy. But I'm glad to be back with the guild. The castle walls were getting a little…thick."

"I figured that would be the case. You know, after your escort to the capital, the Countess contacted me specifically about hiring you away full-time."

She sat up, "Really?"

Oreyn nodded, "Apparently you made a good impression. Did she not mention it?" Sharah shook her head. "Hm. If she had, would you have been tempted? From what they've been paying the guild, I expect the salary would have been very good."

"No." Sharah didn't even hesitate. "Not for an instant."

He smiled, "Good to hear. So, you're going to take some days off, then I'll put you straight back to work."

"Oreyn, I feel fine."

"I don't care. You've been on your toes for a month and a half. I want you to decompress before you get back on the horse. By the way, did you ever find it?"

Sharah shook her head, "No. It's someone else's mount, or dinner, or it's off running wild somewhere. I didn't lose anything important in the saddlebags and I'll replace it somewhere in here."

Oreyn opened up a drawer, "Well, this should help with that." He pulled out a sack of coin that had to hold one thousand and five hundred gold. Sharah's brow went to her hairline and Oreyn smirked at her expression, "Countess Narina Carvain pays very well. And this is just your take. And she can doubtless afford it now that they've got that trade agreement arranged. You did very good work."

"Thanks, sir. Um…is the guildhall a little empty today?"

"Yes. We sent several members off on contract. Another…trying period for Viranus. I sent others with him to watch his back. Since you weren't available."

"Who, may I ask?"

Oreyn didn't even need to refer to the report for the names. Although it was likely the contract was off the record anyway. "Eduard Hodge, Lashana, Ashtus Chenius, Cargas Laftrius and our Skingrad trio, just for good measure. He'll be well taken care of, Sharah. Don't concern yourself."

Sharah deflated a little, then asked hopefully, "Where did they go?"

The mer jabbed a finger at her, "No, Sharah. You're going to take time off after that one. I will make it an order if I must."

Sharah pleaded, "Please, Oreyn. I feel fine. And it's not about the contract. Or Viranus, for that matter. I…I did wrong by my friends here. I held the grudge too long and…I came back hoping I could make it up to them." Sharah felt like she had a lot to make up for. And she was anxious to do it sooner rather than later.

Oreyn looked at her carefully, then sighed, "They went to Leyawiin. They're clearing trolls from Forsaken Mine. They left about two weeks ago to meet up with the Skingrad trio in Bravil. Considering how many of them are heavy armor types, you can probably catch them. But before you get back, I want you to do…whatever it is you do to relax. Because when you get back, we're going to talk seriously about Blackwood. And I want you at your best."

"Yes, sir," she said, standing. Her gold reserves were low, so she wouldn't buy a horse now. Besides, running south would be an opportunity to stretch her legs after all that time in castle Bruma. She could use the exercise.

"One last thing. Did you see anything of note in Bruma?"

"Like what, sir? I was in the castle most of the time."

"What I mean…It's nothing. We'll discuss it more when you get back. Go on. Go reconnect and bond and…well, go on."

"Yes, sir," she piped.

All Sharah had to do was restock a few things in her pack and she was ready to leave. She'd been stationary for so long, being on the road was going to be fantastic. And she owed her friends the effort to put their relationship back on steady ground. Hopefully, they'd be surprised when she showed up out of the blue. And when Sharah returned to Chorrol, then she'd go see Guilbert and…she'd figure that out later. Now, she was on her way to Forsaken mine.

**For those of you who've done the Fighters Guild questline to completion...you know what's coming. Leave a review for me with your thoughts. Merry Christmas and best wishes to everyone.**


	24. Forsaken

**Here's the update. I've got over thirty people keeping track of my fanfic. Score! And there were more individuals who views Ch 22 than there were who saw Ch 23...are some of you skipping? Naughty (finger wagging)! Anyway...**

**Angst away! Let's let-er-rip!**

Sharah opened the door to the Leyawiin guildhall the first day of Sun's Height. The sky was threatening rain but, then again, this was Leyawiin. The only time it wasn't threatening rain was when it was actually raining, no matter the season. Once she was in the guildhall, it wasn't long before Ragar came to find her.

"Hail, Wolf of Cyrodiil."

"Hail, Ragar Left-Hearing."

They exchanged the usual hand-dwarfing grasp. "I heard you were body guarding in Bruma. No one mentioned you'd be coming down here." He leaned in and said secretively, "Or are you here to keep an eye on Viranus?"

Sharah leaned in and said mischievously, "I just thought I'd surprise them."

He laughed out loud, "I'd be careful about that. Surprising an armed warrior doesn't always turn out well."

"I'll keep that in mind. So where are they?"

"The lot of them left for Forsaken Mine early this morning. You know, when Oreyn said he didn't want anyone in the hall doing this contract, I thought he was mad. But sending Viranus Donton: good publicity, good to see a Donton out in the field again, and good for the guild to meet their next Guildmaster. I should know never to doubt Oreyn."

Sharah laughed, "A rule to live by. While I'm here, how are things?"

"Keeping busy," Ragar replied, "No incidents, no more member losses. Contracts are picking up and everyone is getting what they need."

"And Blackwood?" She hoped Oreyn and her efforts would show in some way.

Ragar shrugged, "Everyone heard about Blackheart. They've gotten some pressure from the public and they don't pick fights with our members anymore. Well, not as much. They're still getting contracts but I think we're turning this around. Especially with Viranus here. It's exciting to have the heir to the guild around."

Sharah grinned, "I'll keep that in mind. Maybe we'll parade him through the guildhalls for a few months. He could turn into a regular celebrity. Can you direct me to Forsaken Mine? I'd like to get there before I miss all the fun."

Ragar gave her directions to the mine where Viranus and her friends had gone. "Before you go…I just want to say…" He reached unintentionally for the hole that marked his missing ear, but forced his hand to drop part way. "What you and Oreyn did with Blackheart…thank you. It was…thank you."

Sharah smiled gently, "Anything for my guild. I only wish I could have done more."

She stepped out of the guildhall and saw a bunch of Blackwoods heading into their building across the square. She shook her head. Bunch of ingrates. But the guild was getting its strength back. The company wasn't some impossible challenge anymore. Ragar was right, they could turn this around.

XXX

By the time Sharah saw the entrance to Forsaken Mine, she was positively giddy. After they'd cleared the mine, she and her comrades were going to have at least two and a half weeks together walking the road back to Chorrol. Not to mention the time they spent hanging around Leyawiin and Bravil.

If Lashana and Cargas were willing, the three of them would be inseparable like they used to be back in training. The kind of gaggle of girls that had once stayed up to all hours in the Anvil hall until someone threw a boot across the room at them and demanded they shut up and let the rest of them sleep. The three of them would have been another Fighters Guild trio if Sharah's Ra Gada urge hadn't reared up.

Sharah was going to play Kingdoms with Cargas, tease Lashana mercilessly when she wanted alone time with Ashtus. Once back in Leyawiin they were going to go to the Five Claws where they would carry on until the Argonian proprietor forgot the Leyawiin trio's transgressions all-together. She was going to ask Cargas and Lashana for pointers before she went to see Guilbert. That would get them going. Sharah could already see Ashtus sitting off to the side and complaining about being unable to compete with girl-time. Not even Viranus and Hodge were going to be safe from Sharah's playful poking for a while.

But the first step was to make an entrance. And possibly scare someone out of their skin when she did. Sharah grinned like she'd gone mad. She was back in her guild. Nothing could possibly ruin this.

There was no one at the entrance and signs of heavy traffic into the cave. Once Sharah pushed through the door and the smell of the cavern hit her nose, the giddy feeling in her chest became weighted. It fell heavy in her gut and then kept falling. Sharah pulled Umbra loose and conjured fire in her hand.

Stepping hesitantly down into the mine, her light reached the entrance to the first cavern…and the first body. Sharah's light sputtered and died, throwing the passage into darkness. Then she stumbled forward and nearly fell over the fallen warrior when she reached her. Sharah's mind was in such a tumult it took agonizing moments to get the flare to light to illuminate the face. And when it did Sharah's heart swelled and lurched at once. Ariente, the Altmer leader of the Skingrad trio. She had been dead for hours.

Sharah forced herself to her feet, the light in her hand barely staying alive with her focus so rattled. "Lashana! Cargas!" she screamed into the mine, heedless of what else she'd alerted with her call.

Sharah dashed forward into the first open chamber and halted with a cry. Two more fallen. One of them was Lashana. Sharah's throat constricted around her shriek as she lurched forward and collapsed beside her friend. "No. No! Oh, please. Gods, please no." The Redguard's skin was cold and pale as death. The great gashes in her cuirass revealed the wounds from which she'd bled out, while her eyes were wide and stared unseeing at the wall. Sharah was crumbling within, her hands shook and there was no air to be had.

"Cargas!"

She scrambled up, needing three tries to gain her feet. Her guildmates had had time to illuminate a few of the chambers before…It permitted Sharah to see when the ability to conjure fire slipped beyond her mind's capabilities. Sharah staggered through the chambers at a break neck pace. In an adjacent chamber, she found the two remaining of the Skingrad trio who had fallen. And deeper into the mine…Ashtus and Cargas. The man's chest was sliced apart, the white of his ribs showing through the carnage. And Cargas…Oh, gods. Her neck was hacked open and her hair matted with the blood.

Sharah couldn't even reach where they lay before her legs gave out. She screamed and the caverns echoed with her cries as she wept. Dead…they were all dead! Gods, why?! This wasn't right. Where were the trolls? There weren't enough troll bodies? How could this have happened? How could _this_ have happened? She knelt on hands and knees, sobbing. Out of the corner of her eyes and through the blur of her tears, she saw another human body. But…he was in black armor. Not Fighters Guild…

Viranus…Where was Viranus? He wasn't among the bodies she'd found.

She had to find him. A super-human drive somehow broke through the grief. Sharah dug Umbra's point into the dirt and heaved herself upright. There was a trail of blood across the floor that led deeper. Sharah followed it on tottering legs, using Umbra as a cane to hold herself up.

The trail went deep, where there were no lanterns to illuminate the way. And still she followed. Oh, please, let him be alive. Let someone live through all this. The mine shafts gave way to natural caverns. The echoes of beasts spurred her on. Please, let him be alive.

She found the young Donton in a natural cave. He lay upon the ground, leaning back against the wall and clutching a weight in his arms: the last of their number, Eduard Hodge. The room was dimly lit by a crack in the earth high above. There was so much blood. So much.

Sharah dashed to him, "Viranus. Viranus!"

His eyes opened and his head lolled toward her. Gods, he was so pale. "Shar…ah." He was having trouble breathing, "You're…here."

She knelt hurriedly by him, "Yes. Yes, I'm here. Viranus…oh, gods." Hodge was dead. She didn't know how long, but Viranus had dragged him into the cavern as far as he could manage. But he now held the body such that she couldn't see Viranus's wounds. Sharah reached out and tugged at the dead man, but Viranus resisted. "Viranus, please. You have to let go of him. You have to let go."

Viranus shook his head weakly, "No. Can't…leave him. He…never left…was always there…can't leave him…"

"Viranus, he's gone. You have to let go. Oh…" Sharah shifted the body enough to look at the wound it had been concealing. Sharah gasped and gagged. It was a gut wound. Even folk with healers rarely survived such pains. Oh, she was gonna…No. She had to…stay calm. Had to think. "Please, Viranus. Hodge is gone. You have to let go. We have to get you out of here." Damn it. If only she could concentrate, maybe cast convalescence but…dammit!

Viranus's hold on Eduard Hodge's body was a death grip. "Can't…leave him. He…was so brave…All were…"

"Viranus, please—" He had to survive. Someone had to come out of this. There's already been so much death. "Please, Viranus."

"Mother…would be proud. Fought the trolls…but Blackwood…couldn't stop them…couldn't…"

Sharah was desperate, "Viranus, listen to me. You have to stay with me. We have to get you home."

"Can't leave him…rest now…I'm sorry…mother…" Viranus Donton shuddered and his eyes glazed over. And in the depths of the Forsaken mine, clutching the one he'd tried to save, the heir to the Fighters Guild breathed his last.

She knelt there beside him in utter silence, her mind temporarily unable to comprehend the tragedy laid before her. Then Sharah sat back, threw her head into the air and screamed. She screamed until the blood rushed into her face and stung. Screamed until her eyes throbbed. Screamed until her voice cracked and faded into hoarseness.

In the silence that followed, the shufflings of creatures could be heard: trolls who'd been driven deep into the caverns by the slaughter and now ventured toward the smell of death that promised a meal. Sharah gasped and her hand closed around Umbra's hilt until it was white knuckled. When one of the beasts ventured close enough, Umbra leapt out and sliced the arm from its body. The howl of pain was drowned out by the sound that leapt from Sharah's mouth as she swept from the bodies of her comrades and went at the trolls with a feral roar.

All of her pain and grief were driven to rage that was summoned from deep within. She needed to feel anything but the overwhelming sadness, and the rage leapt to her hand. And every stroke of her sword lent stone and mortar to the dam that shored up her pain. Her mind bracing itself in anticipation for what would happen when the rage finally faded. But for the time being, her wrath ruled. And no troll within the mine would again see the light of day.

XXX

The fighters of the Leyawiin guildhall were sitting down to dinner when the front door opened. They expected a bubbling of complaints and excited chatter. Perhaps the shout for some healing potions and bandages. But there was nothing. Sharah the Wolf walked into the dining hall, alone. Even the burst of hot, humid air could not combat the chill that descended upon the room.

Sharah stood there, stoic and unnatural calm, all emotion and intensity wiped from her face in order to carry the burden she did.

Ragar stood up, "Wolf…?"

She lifted her eyes to him, empty and soulless, "Our guildmates have fallen while completing their contract."

Someone gasped.

Ragar asked, "Who?"

There was a lengthy pause. "All of them."

A flurry of curses and gasping rippled through the silence. "What…but how—"

"You will tell the client the contract is complete. No use leaving the job open-ended." The words seemed heartless but the way she said them told of the mortal wound on her soul. "Then go to Forsaken and see to our dead. Don't…" A shudder passed through her form, disturbing the calm for an instant, "…don't leave them there. I need to go back to Chorrol. Tell them what's happened."

There was no argument as she went back out the way she'd come. It would be faster to send a messenger hawk. But this was the sort of thing that had to be said in person.

Gods, it had happened again. More people close to her heart suddenly ripped away. The 'what if's' bubbled up, railing against the mental walls she had constructed. But they wouldn't get in. Not this time. She wouldn't…couldn't…live another four and a half years like the last. But Sharah needed to find a way to cope. And until then, it was all going to stay locked away.

A large hand closed tight around her arm and snapped Sharah to awareness. She spun and viced her fingers around the offender's wrist, the long poisoned dagger flying from its sheath as Sharah's rage flared to life in her chest. Sir Mazoga didn't realize the bloody intent that she'd incurred and so was only mildly surprised at Sharah's aggressive response. The same could be said for the two knights standing behind her.

"What's wrong with you?" the Orc demanded, "I just said 'hello'."

Sharah's rage deflated as quickly as it had risen, and she removed the dagger's point from where it had been ready to stab into her neck. She may have locked away the grief, but she was still on a hair's edge with the anger. She'd have to watch that.

As she guided the dagger back to its bed another thought occurred to her: had the others of the Dark Brotherhood felt the same when she sent their assassin back? If they had, how likely was it that she would survive until next year? Next season? Everyone of Castle Bruma had been concerned for Marisia. Perhaps Sharah was the one to be worried for. And a final question: would Sharah even mind when they came for retribution?

With the anger gone, the numb and calm settled on her again. But this numb didn't come with an icy clarity and sense of strength. Just a grey haze over everything.

Mazoga saw it. "Tell me what's happened." Not a question. A demand. Pure Mazoga.

"We lost eight," Sharah answered on command, "We just lost eight of our guild on a contract…eight of my friends…" Her mental walls endured an assault but held strong. "I have to get to Chorrol. Tell…" Who was it? She couldn't quite… "Oreyn. I have to tell Oreyn what's happened." She paused for a moment. Chorrol was far away, wasn't it? "I need a horse," Sharah continued, mostly to herself, "I don't think I brought enough coin…"

One of the other knights interpreted it as a request, "We're very sorry for the loss. But you're not an active knight and you understand that the order can't—"

"You're taking my horse," Mazoga stated. When one of the others tried to object, the Orc growled at them, "She's taking my horse." They shut their mouths and backed off, proving they'd learned all they needed to about Mazoga's mentality.

Sharah could not express in words the gratitude she felt, but was certain the Orc knew besides. The fighter was soon mounted on one of the beautiful white horses that were the staple for Leyawiin's knightly order, even though the afternoon sun was waning.

Only the horse would dictate Sharah's pace as she once again fled the wreckage of what had been her comfort. And once again, Chorrol would mark the end of her journey. Sharah feared what would begin afterward. But still she rode. Rode as hard and fast as she could manage, heedless of her own sleep or sustenance. Rode for Chorrol because she knew not what else to do.

XXX

The weather of Chorrol was still fair. The faces still familiar. The guildhall still smelt of the forge and intensive training. But none of it served as a comfort any longer, only a reminder of the lost.

Oreyn was seated over paperwork, just like always. Sharah clung to the simple scratching of the quill for as long as she could. That common place sound that one didn't appreciate most of the time, but became a support of normal when the earth-shattering events descended. Would that bearing the grief unspoken would spare others the pain or undo it entirely. Would that this was only her loss. The scratching ceased when Oreyn noticed her and the lifeline was gone.

"You're back quick. So how did it go?"

Now there was only silence, waiting for her to deal the blow that broke everything apart.

"Sharah?" He knew something was up. She couldn't meet his eyes.

"I…I got there too late." She looked up as the hammer fell, "They're all dead."

The silence rang like shattered glass.

"Dead?" The guild second rocketed out of his seat, "Dead?! How? What happened?"

"I don't know. I got there and they were all…I found Viranus deeper in. He tried to get Hodge away. He said they fought trolls and…He said something about Blackwood…" Her brain worked stubbornly reliving the walk through the mine, seeing the wounds and knowing them for what they were: made not just by claws and teeth, but weapons as well. And there was that other in black armor. Her mind made the connection even though she hadn't gotten a good look at the extra body. "There was a dead Blackwood among them but…I don't know. And Viranus…passed before he could say more."

Oreyn stiffened for a moment, jaw tense and fists shaking. But instead of setting off pacing and cursing, his hands went limp and his shoulders sagged. Sharah knew exactly what was going through his mind. They hadn't just lost an appalling number of guildmates, they'd lost the heir to the guild. The only remaining heir. And Vilena…what was this going to do to her?

Oreyn slowly looked up, an odd look in his eyes as he regarded her, "Thank you for bringing this news. I think it would be best for you to leave Chorrol for a while." Sharah jerked sharply and Oreyn came around the desk and gripped her shoulders firmly, "You've done right by the guild, Sharah. But you're too close to this. And I don't want you caught in the middle. The boy was my responsibility. I'll be the one to tell her." He held her eyes, "I want you to lay low. Keep to the other guildhalls. Do the local contracts. I'll send word for you to come back, but you shouldn't be in Chorrol for a while."

Sharah really had no more strength to seek explanation or resist the order. She wouldn't question Oreyn. So she went downstairs to her trunk. Out of Chorrol for a while. How long? When would she be back?

As she approached her bed, a window to the past flashed open. Lashana and Cargas offering their apologies and the three of them refounding the friendship that a stupid mistake and grudge had threatened. Their sincerity, her regret, and their final reunion before she had left for Bruma. The last time she'd seen them alive.

Sharah winced and opened the thing. Yes, there was the bag of gold from the Bruma contract. She'd need that. And her spare enchanted amulets. She might need those. Sharah started out intending to pack away the necessities to take with her for some lengthy time away, just until she came back. But that mindset didn't last long. Soon she was delving deeper. Chillrend, that she hadn't touched in months. The books she had collected. Even the Welkynd and Varla stones that had settled at the bottom, since she so rarely used them. Sharah did not pack what she might want for her time away. She packed everything she had collected of her life here…she packed to leave for good.

When she was done, all that remained in the trunk were some spare repair hammers, some junk and that blue and green dress. She slammed the trunk shut and heaved the pack over her shoulders.

On the stairs, another window leapt open. Her friends practically carrying Sharah up the stairs on their way to confront her with her single feminine garment, all smiles and eagerness. There was another when she reached the first floor and looked over into the dining room: Sharah and Cargas playing Kingdoms at the table while Lashana laughed at her in the corner. Downstairs there would be more. The spot by the forge where Cargas broke every arrow she set hands to. The pile of crates behind which Sharah had caught Lashana and Ashtus trying to find some private time.

Sharah saw Sabine Laul and Kurz gro-Baroth as they came inside from the back and caught sight of her. Sharah's expression must have said it all because they looked immediately concerned and confused as to why her pack looked so heavy. She couldn't stay to tell them. What would she say? All the memories…her mental walls were already reaching their capacity.

So she rushed out the door. Past the oak. Down the street. Her brisk walk became a jog, and her job a dead run. Sharah pelted away from the hall of her guild, praying to leave all the pain behind and knowing full well that its root was within her.

The white horse tossed its head as she mounted and set off at the rapid pace she bid it. But not the road she'd just ridden. Into the wilderness where she could at least pretend that the trees blocked out the world.

Sharah fled. Fled from the place she'd come to call home. Oh Gods, she's thought the ride from Leyawiin had been torture. Seen parallels in the scene of death and her destination. No. This journey was kin to the agonizing flight she had endured from Hammerfell. The pain came not from the destination she went toward, but the home she ran from.

Was this to be her life? To find home and happiness with people she cared for, only to lose them in bloody near-misses? Had she wronged the Divines somehow? Was this Clavicus Vile at last taking his revenge over Umbra?

Hours passed and night descended more swiftly in the forest where the trees and bushes absorbed the shadows, saturating everything with darkness. Sharah had long since lost track of her whereabouts and didn't care to try and find them out again. All she could do was let the darkness surround her and will it to swallow her whole.

No such luck. Instead it saw fit to mock her with an almost hopeful light that blinked and glimmered through the trees. Sharah must have been a glutton for her punishment because she guided Mazoga's steed toward it.

It was Weatherleah. How was it that she had made it all the way to Weatherleah? Sharah didn't have the mindset to question her good fortune. If good fortune it was. She just made for the clearing in which it was set. Hopefully the brothers would receive her.

Sharah tied the horse to the new fence around their growing garden. She walked woodenly to the door and knocked. A light bobbed across the windows and she heard footsteps. Weatherleah's door opened and Sharah squinted against the light of the lantern that fell upon her and Guilbert Jemane who was standing in the doorway.

"Sharah…you're here."

Sharah winced. Those were the first of the last words Viranus had uttered. "You said I would always be welcome here…Does that offer still stand?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. Please. Come in," Guilbert stepped aside and offered her entry into their home.

But Sharah didn't move, "…my horse…"

He moved toward the outside while still standing to afford her entry, "I can do that. You look…Please come in."

Sharah lingered for a moment longer, then stepped over the threshold. Guilbert ushered her into a seat by the fire before going outside to tend her horse.

Looking around the house, Sharah noted the changes. The door had been mended and was now sturdy and strong. The ogre-nests had been cleared away. In fact, the smell of death and the musk of monsters had vanished entirely, helped along by the fixed windows with shutters and the clusters of herbs and flowers that were hung and set everywhere. The house was furnished as the home it once had been. The realization cast thoughts again to what she had lost four years and now a week ago. So she focused on the mesmerizing dance of the flames before her.

Guilbert came back and she heard him set the tack by the door and her pack on the side of the room. But she didn't really register him until he sat down next to her. Sharah soaked in the quiet for a while, letting it leech out the rigidness with which she had driven herself since Leyawiin until her shoulders sagged inward.

"Thank you, Guilbert. I don't mean to intrude like this…I'm just so tired." How long had it been since she last slept? After the Inn of Ill omen at some point. "And…I can't go back to the guildhall."

"Did something happen?"

Sharah nodded. How long would it be before she could bear to answer when someone asked her that?

"Do you want to talk about it?" he next ventured.

Sharah shook her head.

Guilbert's hand lifted hesitantly and reached out to touch hers. When he did, Sharah turned her palm up and grabbed his offering tight. It was comfort that she needed, so she leaned into his shoulder, straining for the human contact. He offered it readily until he was hugging her to him.

She'd lost so many in her life. When was it going to stop? Sharah didn't cry. Her mental walls were still up and she wasn't ready yet to take them down. But even if she wasn't going to share her tragedy with him, she was glad to not be alone. She almost felt protected. In fact, the way he was holding her reminded Sharah of a dream she'd once had. And the recollection made Guilbert seem…lacking. But it was far better than nothing. So she clung to him.

Sharah detached herself after a while, "Thank you, Guilbert." Sharah sighed, exhausted.

The man had let go reluctantly. "My bed is upstairs." He immediately became flustered, "What I mean is, you can take my bed…which is upstairs. To sleep. I didn't mean…"

His face was beet red and Sharah smiled a little. "I know what you meant. And thank you. But I'll just lay my pallet out down here."

Guilbert was reluctant to go back upstairs. He stayed until Sharah was settled and insisted he go up to rest. He was sweet. And clearly still cared about her. There were far worse places to take refuge than around someone like him.

XXX

Divines bless them, the brothers let her sleep. Sharah cracked her eyes on habit around sunrise when the Jemanes were preparing for their day. Guilbert particularly was taking pains to keep quiet in the process. Sharah knew she should rise, offer something for his selflessly welcoming her into his home in the dead of night. Instead she just closed her eyes and drifted back off, not waking again until well after midday.

Sharah remained at Weatherleah. The first couple days Guilbert seemed to be watching for when she would pick up and leave. But that never happened. She helped them with the upkeep of their property. Muscle memory took over and pulled her strings like a marionette. Cooking, cleaning, tending, repairing, building. All the things she'd done growing up in her past life in Hammerfell. And every day she stayed, Guilbert seemed more pleased.

There was enough open land to support a large enough growing area, the forest providing anything else they needed and the beasts stayed away. Sharah took up her arms against deer and fowl only. And her Wolf armor, likewise, remained packed away after she'd changed on her arrival. Periodically, Sharah would just stop and look out over what lay before her. Not really seeing, just caught up in the thoughts of her own mind. Sometimes about her life in Hammerfell, sometimes about her life in the Fighters Guild, sometimes other things altogether.

She'd take walks, sometimes with Guilbert, sometimes alone. There was a view behind the house that she liked. There was a steady incline that stretched out and down and a break in the trees that was large enough for one to see a horizon. Guilbert moved a bench there for her when he noticed that she enjoyed it. He was so very sweet. Sitting on the bench and being able to see some of the landscape spread out before her, the world felt smaller. Like the individual lives that dwelt on it didn't matter so much. That they might not be such a pain when they were gone. That was utterly false, of course. But Sharah spent an hour or so a day tricking herself into believing it wasn't.

She was such a coward. Being here at Weatherleah, following the motions of a life that was so far behind her. She was a coward. She should be back with her guild. She should be looking out for Blackwood and helping her guildmates complete contracts, keeping things together until Oreyn called her back. But she was so scared. Scared that she would get back and feel nothing but pain when she looked around the guildhalls. That that would be the rest of her life: feeling the pain of her loss no matter where she looked. Sharah hadn't endured that before. When she'd lost her family Sharah had gone somewhere else entirely, where the familiarity couldn't reach her. But Sharah couldn't abandon the guild outright. And yet she made no plan to leave Weatherleah and return either.

Sharah knew she was living in stasis out here. Each day passing buffered by the forest that lay between her and everything else. She might not be leaving the province that her pain dwelt in, but she was still avoiding the guild, which was one step before abandonment. And still she stayed.

One evening, Sharah took a seat on the bench again. The view at night was lovely too. The line of the forest just a darker shaded blanket beneath the vast sky, and the stars scattered like glittering diamonds upward. The sight above was cut off by the few black trunks that stood between her and the vastness. A view of infinity, with the grounding of the earth; seeing all existence, but reminding her that she was bound on a small part.

Guilbert came out with a lantern, bringing her a steaming mug of tea.

"Hi," she said, taking the drink.

"Hi," he replied, sitting down next to her.

They sat looking out, just being in each other's company. The heat from the mug spread warmth to her hands, but it didn't reach up beyond her wrist. It gave her a physical sense of detachment that went right along with her mindset. "I know I should go back," she finally said, "I should. But_…" I'm a coward._

"Well, you don't _have_ to. I mean…you look much better. Than when you got here. Not that you don't always look…" He blustered in his head for a moment, "I mean…you looked like you were in a lot of pain. And you don't anymore."

Only because she'd managed to hide it. She didn't feel changed at all. "Maybe spending time out here is good for me." Sharah wondered, "How long have I been out here?"

"Uh…About three weeks, I think." Three weeks? Had she really been here for three weeks? Time passed differently out here. Guilbert continued, "It's been nice having you here." He twiddled his fingers for a moment, trying to order his thoughts into words. "Sharah. It's been really nice having you here. And I know I didn't do very well to start. With you, I mean. But…you don't seem like you want to go back to the Fighters Guild. So maybe…you could stay here. With me. For a while…or longer."

She looked over at him. Was he…?

Guilbert shifted on the bench to face her, "I know I don't have a lot to offer. But what I do have…I want to have it with you. If that's what you want too."

Sharah sat, not knowing what to say. Guilbert Jemane was offering what she wanted. A life of peace with someone who cared for her and would take care of her. No more fighting and lying. She'd be away from everything she'd gone through where the world would pass without her knowing about it or being involved. Her Ra Gada urge had been locked out of her thoughts with the grief, not gone but muffled. She could stay and be content here. With him.

Guilbert's eyes drifted from her eyes to another feature on her face. He leaned closer to kiss her. Sharah let him. He came to her sweetly, kissing her with all the care she could see him treating her with for the remainder of her days. But she remembered another kiss. One that made her feel safe and protected and needy and a thousand other things…that she did not feel here. Sharah broke the kiss and looked away, back out to the horizon. Why did that come to her mind now?

But, deep in her soul, Sharah knew she couldn't. Being here was an easy way out of her problems. But it wasn't right. For her or anyone else. Not the guild. And not Guilbert.

She'd treated him horribly hadn't she? All his attention and interest and she just led him on, leaving both of them hoping that something might come out of it eventually. Gods, she was a wretched waste of space. If her brother had pursued a woman who acted like she had, Sharah would have confronted the twit and demanded that she either commit or leave him be.

"I'm sorry, Guilbert but…no. I…I want to love you. I do. But…it's not going to happen. I'm sorry." Why couldn't she love him? Why couldn't she feel her heart swell and just say 'yes' and be happy? "You're a good man. A man of worth. You're just not for me." She reached out and grasped his hand. A friend's gesture and nothing more. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. I'm sorry this didn't turn out like you'd hoped. But I am honored that you made the effort for me. And I want you to try again someday, with someone else. You deserve to have someone who loves you as much as you love them. It's just not me." She stood up, ending any chance for them with a kiss to his forehead, "I'll leave tomorrow."

His expression was hurt, and still he said, "You don't have to leave."

Sharah looked back at him, "Yes. I do." For his sake and for hers.

The next morning she rode away from Weatherleah without a backwards glance. She didn't want to. But she needed to. She needed to return to the world before something passed that she couldn't make up for being absent for. She couldn't hide. Gods knew she wanted to. But she was needed.

And Guilbert…She would not come back here if she could help it. She'd done enough to the man. He needed to forget her. Move on. And it was better for him that she give him the space to do that.

Sharah had hidden long enough and it was too easy to continue doing so out here. And whatever easy life she might have wanted at some point, it couldn't be here. Content was not happy, and close enough was not enough. She had to go back. For better or worse.

XXX

The world had continued to pass without her presence. Sharah hadn't spent an hour in the Imperial City before she'd heard ten people talking about the state of the Fighters Guild. If people weren't openly questioning the Fighters Guild before, they were doing it now. With the death of Viranus, faith in the Fighters Guild was fading fast. It sounded like people were just waiting for the Guild to shrivel up and disband altogether.

And as if that wasn't enough, the rumors got even worse. Modryn Oreyn was no longer in the guild. Sharah almost stopped the first person she overheard it from. Oreyn…out of the guild. But…how? …why? A moment more listening in gave her the answer. He'd been kicked out by Vilena Donton. Sharah had to lean on a wall for support. He'd come clean with Vilena. He must have. He'd told her he'd been sending Viranus off on missions and that was why he'd died in Leyawiin. And Vilena…she'd expelled him for it.

The logical portion of Sharah's mind understood. The guild-second had gone behind her back and gotten her boy killed because of it. What else could she do? But Oreyn had been keeping the guild together. Waiting for Vilena to pick up the reins again. Did this mean Vilena was going to take the guild back, now that she didn't have Oreyn to cover for her? Sharah wanted to believe this would kindle Vilena's old fire. But her gut told her that it wouldn't. That the death of her last son would be too much.

But…Oreyn gone. He'd been a staple in the guild since Sharah joined. He'd been its strength when Vilena had been overcome with grief. How could she just throw him out? And what was going to happen now that he was gone? Sharah kept her cloak drawn over the arm that sported her guild patch. She didn't want anyone coming to her and asking after the guild. She didn't have answers. And…she wasn't even sure she could reassure people that all would be fine. Because Sharah wasn't sure she believed it would.

Her intent to go back to the guild wavered. Certainly she couldn't go back to Leyawiin, even to return Mazoga's horse. But Sharah could utilize the Black Horse Courier for that. While the Courier was most widely known for the publishing of the province's newspaper, the public also utilized their couriers to deliver mail and packages between the cities, since they traveled between them often anyway. It was not a stretch for them to deliver a horse as well. Sharah just couldn't go to Leyawiin. If being back in the guild was a bit daunting, visiting the place her friends had died was too much to ask. Sharah included a letter to that affect and thanking Mazoga for her generosity. Then Sharah went to hole up in her shack.

Her wolf armor was still unused in her pack. Sharah found herself sitting by the fire and staring at it. What was she supposed to do now? If she hadn't left Weatherleah as she had, Sharah might have thought much more seriously about staying. But she'd chosen not to run, not to be a coward. But…going back now? It wouldn't be to wait for Oreyn's call. He was gone, out of the guild. There'd be no going back to headquarters. In all likelihood, Vilena would have her patch as well if she did.

And the guildhalls? She'd gone along with Oreyn on putting Viranus out in the field, kept his secret, delivered news of his death. Would they blame her? Would they understand what Oreyn had been trying to do? Her eyes stung. Losing her closest of guildmates was terrible, but Sharah didn't know if she could stand seeing rejection and condemnation on the rest of the guild's faces too.

Sharah's head bowed. She wasn't going to run. Taking that first step back into the world from Weatherleah had decided that. But going back to the guild was an entirely separate, equally daunting step of its own. If only there was something, anything, else to occupy her thoughts. Something other than the guild and the loss and the future that looked bleak.

There was a cough from behind her and Sharah jumped and wrenched around in her seat. She didn't reach for her dagger though. Some part of her mind wondered if it was the Dark Brotherhood finally come for their revenge. Another smaller and somewhat selfish part hoped it was. Instead she was looking at a master thief standing in the corner of her shack by the trap door with a distinctive gray cowl covering his entire face.

"Good evening. I hope I am not interrupting anything," he said with a small smile. "Ah, but where are my manners. Here I've come uninvited and I have not properly introduced myself." He gave an elegant bow, indicative of a gentleman thief, "The Gray Fox, master thief. And you needn't get up. I know well who you are. Sharah the Wolf. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Sharah remained seated, blinking at him. The Gray Fox continued to smile pleasantly, "I understand you received payment for your service to the guild, but I felt I should thank you in person. That business with Hieronymus Lex was masterfully done. I apologize for not being more timely in thanking you, but better late than never. And gratitude knows no timeline, I can assure you of that. I did hear about your guild and Leyawiin. Terrible business. You have my sympathy."

As she remained silent, his smile became more self-assured, if a little sad. "Well, now that that is done with, I will take my leave. I've places to go, things to steal. A thief's work is never done. You'll understand if I use the back door." He gave a last bow and turned toward the trap door.

"Count of Anvil, huh?" The Gray Fox froze on the spot like he'd been paralyzed. Then he turned slowly back to her, absolutely dumbfounded. Sharah continued, "I figured it out. You said you put on the cowl in the cave under the castle. The only smuggler cave like that is in Anvil. And the most notable missing person there is the count. And I don't think I've ever heard anyone say his name. So…that must be you."

This time it was the Fox's turn to blink mutely. She smiled and stood up to pull something out of her drawers, "Now you're eleven different kinds of idiot, Gray. So, are you going to help me plan this heist, or am I doing this alone? Either way I'd like my mask back." Sharah walked over to him, "Oh, and one more thing."

She took the needle between her fingers and jabbed it into his bicep. The Fox yelped, his dumbfounded silence finally broken, "Ow! What…what was that for?"

Sharah kept smiling, "I told you I'd stab you next time you scared me like that. And I keep my promises. So? What's it going to be?"

Even in the midst of this horrible situation with the Fighters Guild and all the weight on her mind, she still couldn't help but laugh at Gray's absolutely stunned expression.

**Bet you all thought Lucien was gonna come to her emotional rescue, huh? **_**Suckers!**_** We'll see how the heist goes in the next chapter...and we'll have a very special cameo. Go on, guess who. I dare ya!**


	25. The Ultimate Heist

**So apparently on the last chapter I did a good job 8D. Thank you so much for all the support and comments on it. I'm glad the chapter turned out well.**

**Now, on to The Ultimate Heist. Read and Review. Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR!**

**It's been a while since I've said it, and I really should have to but: Bethesda owns Elder Scrolls, I do not...dang it!**

"Gray, would you quit staring at me like that? I feel like I just turned into a daedra in a skirt and started tap dancing on the ceiling."

The thief shook his head, "I just can't understand it. You…you shouldn't remember."

Sharah sighed, "I would recommend you stop trying to figure it out. It'll spare you a few headaches. This is Nocturnal we're talking about. She's not known for being understandable. Can we get back to this, please?" She motioned toward the plans that were laid out on the table.

They'd been casing the Imperial Palace for the past week. Gray had done some in preparation, before he'd tried to give it all up. But there had still been plenty to do. They'd made progress and the results of their information gathering were spread and pinned up all around her basement. Plans of the sewers, the tower, lists and diagrams of the guard schedules they'd managed to procure, possible spells and traps that were waiting inside. The tower was sealed up tight, so most of what was happening above the second floor was speculation. Sharah was starting to see what had daunted Gray in the first place. Gray had recently found some long forgotten building plans of how the modern Imperial City had been built on and over the top of the old Ayleid one that had once been a part of the White Gold tower. That was what they were looking at now.

"I can't believe there's so much of the old tower just sealed up and built over. I know Ayleid cities are mostly subterranean, and that might not sit well with humans. But the empire wouldn't have had to do nearly as much building if they'd just…Gray!"

He jumped and jerked his eyes forward, "Sorry. Sorry."

Sharah shook her head in exasperation, then looked back at the map, "It looks like there's only a couple places where the old city and the new are connected. There's one out here by the prison. Doesn't look like it would get anywhere close to the Tower, though. And—"

A knocking sounded from the front door of the house above them. Sharah stepped back from the table, "I'll get it. Keep looking at that."

Sharah climbed the ladder and secured the hidden trap door before going to answer the front where the insistent rapping continued. "Alright! I'm coming! By the Nine, I'm not deaf!" She popped the door open and sighed, "Hello, Methredhel. Something I can do for you?"

The Wood Elf thief looked chipper and inexplicably friendly, "Hello, Sharah. Long time, no see."

Sharah leaned against the doorframe. Methredhel was never this friendly with her. "I suppose so. I ask again: something I can do for you?"

Methredhel continued smiling broadly and leaned to one side, trying to get a casual look inside, "Oh, I just heard around that you were back in town and thought I'd come by to say 'hello'."

Sharah was unconvinced, "I've been back in town a week."

The Bosmer leaned a bit less casually, "Doesn't mean I can't still come by. May I come in?"

"No."

The mer faltered, then forced the friendly smile back onto her face, "Come on, Sharah. We're friends. We can sit and talk and…catch up." She was still leaning around like a drunkard.

Sharah chuckled, "Oh, 'friends'. Is that what we are?"

The friendly demeanor fell away, "I'm trying to be nice here."

"And doing a spectacular job…of looking utterly fake."

"Come on, let me in."

Sharah shifted her weight to the door and let the opening narrow a few inches, "No."

"Why not?"

"Why do you want in so badly?"

Methredhel huffed, "Look, I know the Gray Fox is in the city. The whole underworld knows. Him _and_ his Shadow."

"And…"

"Are you hiding him here?" Sharah had to start laughing. To which Methredhel began to fume, "Oh, forget it. What would he even be doing here? You're barely a thief. Just because I haven't found him yet…Forget it. The only way he'd be here is if…" Methredhel paused in her thoughts while Sharah's laughter mellowed to a simper. But when the Bosmer read the devilish twinkle in Sharah's eye, she gaped. "No…NO! There's no way. You couldn't possibly…"

Sharah put on an expression that was the epitome of civility, "Good night, Methredhel."

She closed the door gently, but could hear Methredhel outside say, "That. Is not. FAIR!"

Sharah giggled. Well, so much for her secret underworld identity. Oh well, it was a miracle she'd kept it secret as long as she had. Down in the basement, Gray glanced up, "Who was it?"

"Methredhel. Your biggest fan," Sharah said in a mockingly feminine voice. "So, did you find anything?"

He groaned, "I swear she must be part bloodhound. I have to doff the cowl sometimes to get away from her." Gray looked back at the table, "There are a few channels from sealed parts of the old tower up into the palace. But they're too small, and straight up and down. This one looks more likely. But I'm not sure if…"

Both of them trace the passage, looking for where it either blocked up or let out. "There," they said at the same moment.

"That's in the sewers, right?"

Gray nodded, then grabbed for an Imperial City sewer map, "There's no door marked here."

"It must have been sealed up. What's this symbol? I think I've seen it before." Sharah started flipping through some of the books they'd collected for this. She found the reference in one of those Gray had procured. She'd never asked where or how he'd gotten the obscure text, though. "The symbol denotes something called 'The Old Way'. This says it was an old escape route for Emperors. If it's a way out of the Tower, then that means it's a way in…hopefully."

"And if they've sealed it up, that probably means it's…well, fallen into disuse at least. Forgotten completely at best."

"Where does it come out? In the Tower, I mean."

Gray shook his head, "I don't know. It's the third or fourth level, I think. But there's no way to tell where the exit is. Could be a supply closet, or the Emperor's bathroom."

Sharah snorted, "That would be awkward. We'll have to risk it. I'm going in blind anyway."

"I should be going in with you."

"Gray, you said I was a better thief than you were. I can do sneaking. And you won't be able to pull the whole 'off with the cowl' trick up there. Any stranger will be an intruder, whether you're the Fox or your alter ego." Gray sighed. "It's ok. I'll be fine. Let's get back to this."

He nodded and they both returned to studying the books and charts. "It's probably more than just a wall between the sewer and the Old Way."

She nodded, skimming down the page, "It's a spell that's bound in…damn, I hate the Ayleid Language…'Glass of Time'? Is that it?"

Gray looked at the ancient lettering in the book, "Yes. Wait…" He went pawing through some more papers that were set on a crate, "Inventory…inventory…Glass of Time, yes. It's stored in the palace basement. Described as a large hourglass."

"Bound enchantment?"

"Doubtless. I wonder if anyone still remembers its purpose. Or if they just think it's some odd decoration."

Sharah mused, "So we have a way in. Break the enchantment that's bound to the hourglass, get through the Old Way entrance, then up into the Tower."

"Then through the tower to the Imperial Library. You've got four levels where the Imperial Library could be," Gray continued. "Oh, here at the end, there's another binding on the Old Way's other side. The one into the Tower…does that little symbol look like anything to you?"

Sharah grinned and plucked the complete Arrow of Extrication from where it sat on a shelf, "Gee, it looks like a key with fletching. So now we know what this is for. So let's assume I get into the Tower and into the Imperial Library. Which Elder Scroll do I go for? How do I tell them apart? And how do I get past those Moth Priests?"

Gray stood quiet for a moment, pondering, "I know the name of the Elder Scroll. Hm…I…I think I have an idea. I just have to find the right candidate. Let me worry about that. You'll have enough to deal with in the Tower."

"Gray, I thought we agreed on planning this together," she reminded him.

"I know, Sharah. But if there's one thing I know how to do, it's deal with nobles. I know exactly what to do. I'll get that scroll on a table in the Library. You just worry about getting in there and getting out."

Sharah chuckled grimly, "Oh, is that all?"

Gray became serious, "Sharah…you don't have to go through with this. I don't know for certain if the Scroll will lift my curse. This could just be another dead end."

"Or it could get you back to your family. It's worth the risk," she declared, glaring down and trying to memorize the path through the Old Way.

The master thief stood quiet for a moment while her eyes roved the map intently.

"Tell me this is not about your guild."

Sharah jerked up, "What are you talking about?"

Gray's gaze did not waver, "Tell me you are not risking this because of your guild."

"How does that even make sense?" she wanted to know.

He spoke sternly, "Are you risking getting caught on this heist as a reason not to go back? So you can excuse yourself with a life imprisonment? You should be back with them now. I'd think you would want to help them come back from that tragedy in Leyawiin. Instead you're walking into the White Gold Tower to steal an Elder Scroll, the odds clearly against you…"

Sharah stood straighter, "I'm doing this because I promised I would. Because lifting your curse is worth it to me. Speaking of which, do you know how to use this thing once we get a hold of it?"

Gray replied, "I've spent the last few months learning how to read it. That won't be a problem. Sharah, your guild is your family. They need you—"

"They _needed_ me. Before. What they need now is their Guildmaster." Sharah looked back at the map, but she wasn't really seeing it. "I don't know how to help them. But I know how to help you. So I'm going to do it." Sharah glared back at him, "I hope this isn't your attempt to talk me out of it again."

Gray shook his head, "No, I've learned my lesson there. I am grateful for what you're doing. I know I'd have no chance without you. I just hope you're going in there for the right reasons."

Sharah looked back at the map. That was the question, wasn't it.

XXX

She waited until the guard had passed, sharing the shadowy enclave with her associate. At Gray's nonverbal urging they both shot for the door. The Skeleton Key whirled in the lock and the two of them slipped down into the Imperial Palace basement. They ducked behind some crates as the guard on duty came up toward the door. They waited until he'd gone back the other way, then Gray motioned off in another direction and Sharah followed.

When they were out of hearing range of the guard, Gray said, "The Glass is on the far side of the basement. We just need to find it and find how to work it."

Sharah nodded and they started off. The basement was a single circular room. Torches were few and far between, and mostly on the outer wall. In the center, most of the light was blocked by piles of crates that held gods only knew what. This was not the repository of the Empire's wealth. That was upstairs. This was just storage. A warehouse for the palace. The fact that the glass was stored here meant its worth and true purpose were unknown.

They followed a cleared path through the clutter that went through the center of the basement. About in the center of the room, Sharah felt like she hit a wall. One moment, she was close on Gray's heels. The next her entire head was spinning, like she'd downed two bottles of Cyrodiilic brandy in one sitting. Sharah staggered and went to her knees, then was on her back staring up at the ceiling while all her senses spun. And as if that weren't enough, the ceiling arced skyward and all the piles of crates in her peripheral vision did the same, growing taller and taller like their tops and the roof were falling away from her.

Sharah felt Gray's hands grab her by the arms and hoist her up, "Gray…everything's…"

"I know. A protection spell. Just close your eyes and hang on to me."

His steps were shaky, like she weren't the only one being affected. But the Cowl must have muffled some of it because the thief could stay upright while she most certainly could not. Sharah kept her eyes closed until Gray lowered her down by a wall and whispered for her to be quiet. The sounds of the guard's footsteps got closer. Even after they faded again, Sharah focused on breathing until the drunken feeling had passed. But when she opened her eyes, she stared up at a chair that looked as tall as a one story building. Sharah groaned quietly, "It's still got me."

Gray replied, "Actually, the chair really is that size."

Sharah blinked at him, then at the chair. She leaned up on her elbows and saw an equally oversized club behind which they were hiding, and an enormous crystal ball further along the wall. Sharah looked between them a couple times, "What is wrong with these people? Why would anyone…Nevermind, I really don't want to know."

Gray chuckled, "The Glass is around here somewhere. Come on."

Sharah thought they'd be looking for an oversized hourglass stored away in a crate. As it turned out, the Glass was as enormous as the rest of the items stored here. The hourglass was taller than Sharah. "So…do we break it?"

The Gray Fox looked around the Glass, "There are some markings back here." Sharah kept guard while he figured through what was written, "It has to be flipped. The Old Way is unlocked from this side as long as the sands run."

"How long do you think that is?"

He shrugged and looked at the glass, "Maybe an hour. Maybe less."

Sharah thought carefully. "That's probably longer than it would take to get to where that door is. So you really can't come with me. I have to be at the entrance when you flip the glass."

Gray nodded, "I can do that. Now that last thing is to get the scroll there when you are. Then it will be up to you."

XXX

"Try again. Keep your head up, shoulders back and stand tall. Pretend you are floating rather than walking."

Sharah tried again and the book on her head toppled to the ground. She cursed. "I can walk without making a sound. Why is this so hard?"

"Because it's a different skill," Gray said, retrieving the fallen tome. "Now put it back on and try again."

Sharah pressed it firmly on top of her head, hoping it might flatten her skull enough to keep the book put. "Is this really so important?"

Gray nodded, tapping her back until she had it straight enough, "Absolutely. If the Moth Priests think it anyone but the noblewoman who is there for the scroll, you'll be caught. The fact that they're blindfolded gives us this advantage. But if they hear you walking like a warrior or a thief, they will know and the entire palace guard will be on you in moments. So yes, this is important. And you need to have this walk down before we put the pieces into play."

Sharah took a wobbly step, eyes fixed on the equally wobbly book edge at the top of her vision, "And how exactly are you getting this noblewoman to request the scroll? And how are you keeping her from showing up?"

"Let me worry about that. You worry about this walk. Lift your chin and look straight ahead. It all affects your steps, so pay attention."

Sharah stubbed her toe on the table, the book toppled as she hopped on her good foot while holding her bad and spitting curses.

"You'll have to keep that language in check while you're in there. If you say one word, they'll know you're not her."

She growled at him, "You are so lucky I'm not armed right now."

Gray hid a chuckle. "Again."

XXX

"Do you have everything?"

Sharah adjusted her satchel and wiggled her toes. She was dressed in her usual dark thief garb, except for her mask which was lying on the table waiting. The only difference was that the boots of Springheel Jak were pulled on over her shoes and were now laced up her calves. Sharah had smaller feet than the Count, so even with her shoes, the boots had to be tightened.

She patted her satchel. Rope, a potion for invisibility, just in case. She had the Ring of Khajiiti on, though the enchantment was not active. Then there was the light bow and Arrow of Extrication strapped to her back. And finally, a silver dagger was on her thigh. She'd filched it from some random noble earlier in the week.

"Yeah, I think that's everything."

Gray nodded to the dagger, "Do you think you'll need that?"

Sharah shrugged, "I don't know. There could be anything waiting down in the Old Way. And it's better that I not take my dagger. Wouldn't want to accidently poison a palace guard if I run into trouble." The thief didn't pursue the matter. "Has Savilla's stone given up anything?"

Gray shook his head, "Not since we got the boots. Are you sure you're ready for this?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"The Priests are expecting Lady Celia Camoran in the next twenty four hours. I'll keep her from showing up while you get the scroll."

"Let's do it."

XXX

Everything went smoothly up until the scroll reached her hand. Sharah was waiting in the sewer when Gray flipped the Glass of Time in the palace basement. The wall shuddered and the door to the Old Way shoved itself out from behind the stone. Sharah wasted no time and entered. The first of the Old Way looked to be woven around the foundations of the modern city, but it quickly gave way to the Ayleid ruins of the White Gold Tower. As Sharah expected and detested, the ruins were crawling with undead who'd been trapped or had just converged here. The only oddities were the very large piles of ash and soot that spotted the ruins. Sharah didn't spare them too much mind and went on her way, avoiding the undead whenever possible.

The final lock tested her marksmanship. Luckily she'd brought a few spare arrows to use for practice. A pressure plate on one side of an enormous grand hall revealed the key hole on an equally magnificent statue where the Arrow of Extrication was to be set. Sharah was quite pleased when the key reached its mark and the statue raised up to reveal a passage hidden beneath. She left the bow in the room and followed the passage down only to go right back up a winding stair. It was tight and steep and spiraled upward at such an angle that Sharah was certain if she lost her footing, she would be unable to stop her tumbling. Her legs were on fire by the time she reached the top, and Sharah had to rest a bit before she dared to open the door.

On the other side, what seemed like solid stone shifted out into the room. Some dust and mortar whispered out from where it had slept for untold decades. At first glance into the room, Sharah's heart had nearly stopped dead. The palace barracks. Divines and Daedra, the palace side of the Old Way was in the barracks of the palace guards. If she'd been smart, Sharah would have gone back the way she'd come. But the fact that the entire barracks was asleep gave her what might be considered inappropriate courage. But it was courage none the less.

The courage carried her out into the room, hugging shadows, and moving upward from floor to floor. All without being sighted. The human occupants of the White Gold Tower may have claimed the place as their own, but they failed to hold to the Ayleids' love of light. Torches did not cast nearly as far an illumination as the Wild Elves' enchanted crystals. The race of men must have just gotten used to the semi-darkness, which was just fine as far as Sharah was concerned.

But it also brought another feature to her notice. Or lack of a feature. There were no windows. At all. Well, of course. From outside, the White Gold Tower was a powerful jutting structure with not a weakness in sight. It was just…something to keep in mind. Her only way out would be back the way she'd come.

The Imperial library was two floors above the level she'd entered on. Sharah did not know the hour, but it must have been late for there to have been so many guards asleep. Hopefully the Moth Priests wouldn't be wary of a noble showing up at all hours to look at an Elder Scroll.

Sharah spared a few seconds to take a deep breath and recall Gray's lessons of a noble's stature before entering the Library foyer. A massive stone wall assaulted her vision just within the door. There was a circular path that followed the perimeter of what must be the library. All the way around at the back, there was a small desk at which was seated a robed priest with a blindfold about his eyes. Sharah remained steady. She did not rush, she did not dawdle, and she kept her back straight and her head held high. But she couldn't keep her heart from pounding in her throat as she approached the seated monk.

His head adjusted to indicate he heard her approach. Before she started to panic, he rose from his seat and bowed, "Welcome to this holy library, Lady Camoran. We are honored that you should grace us with your presence."

He waited. Sharah didn't know if he was waiting for her to go through the door to his right or if he was waiting for a response. The latter was out of the question. If she spoke, they would know the ruse. Sharah made the decision. Better to play the snooty noble than the noble who was suspiciously willing to tend to her own entrances. So she crossed her arms and tapped her foot twice. It worked. The Monk Priest gave another bow of his head and went to open the door wide for her, following the rule that all commoners did: don't tick off a noble.

Sharah entered when he'd stood aside. Head high, back straight, imagine you own the room you walk into…That was a stretch. The grandeur of the Imperial Library left her momentarily dumbfounded, even in the middle of the most risky challenge she'd ever undertaken. It was two stories high—and that was Palace stories, which were one and a half, sometimes two, regular stories. It was as wide around as the palace basement, and the walls were stacked floor to ceiling with shelves, and every shelf was jam-packed with what must have been every book in existence. And there was a gloriously carved stone table at the center of the room with a burning torch in the pronounced pit at its center. Divine Dibella and Holy Stendarr, it…damn! It wasn't even a table. It was a part of the floor. One solid piece, from floor to table. There was no way anyone but the Ayleids had done that.

A narrow elegant stair coiled upward to the second floor, which she could see was ringed with stained glass that was lit by torches from the other side. And she saw gilded cages where the precious Elder Scrolls were kept. This place was magnificently beautiful and it took her breath away.

The Priest behind her had noticed, and seemed pleased that the Library had quieted the apparently temperamental noble, "Yes, my lady. It is quite a sight. If you would take a seat, we will bring you the scroll you requested."

Sharah recovered herself, spoke not a word, went over her posture and walked to the seat that was waiting for her at the stone table. The hour was late enough there were few Priests around. And, like Gray had told her, they were all blindfolded. A few moments later, a different priest, also blindfolded, came down the winding stair and placed a precious scroll before her, "Lady Camoran, we present to you the Elder Scroll that you requested."

There it was. The prize. Sharah waited only until the Priest had gone back upstairs. Then she lifted the scroll from the table and tucked it into her satchel. She had it. She had the Elder Scroll. Now all she had to do was get the hell out of here.

XXX

Damn. Damn, damn, damn! She was in trouble. Sooooooo much trouble. They'd checked the table. Had to. The Priests had come down to check on their guest to find that both she and the scroll were gone. Then they'd told the guard to locate Lady Celia Camoran and bring her back because the Elder Scrolls must not be removed from the Imperial Library, only to be told that Lady Celia Cameron had never arrived. Now every guard in the palace was being scuttled and on the alert, searching for whoever had made off with an Elder Scroll. Damn, damn, DAMN!

Sharah shot down the hallway like a bolt. The floors below her were swarming, so going down was not an option. So she went up, trying to stay one step ahead of the search parties. And no windows. Damn! With the way out blocked by angry soldiers, her only hope was to hide. Hide and stay hidden until they stopped looking and she could slip back out. For now all she could think to do was go up, floor by floor, staying ahead of the wave of guards.

The sound of armored feet ahead brought her to a skidding halt. Sharah went for the first door on her left. She darted inside, closing it quickly behind her. Then looked around the room frantically only long enough to find a hiding place and slipped behind the long banner hanging against the wall. A banner? Really? How old was she? Eight? She may as well be hiding under a bed. But there was no shifting now.

The heavy footsteps grew louder on the other side of the door before it popped open. Sharah went rigid. They had to check this room, didn't they? Holding her breath and clinging to the Ring of Khajiit to hide her, Sharah remained tense and ready to run. For all the good it would do her in this fortress on alert. She wouldn't get a hundred feet.

There was shuffling and clanking as the guards moved around. Sharah prayed that they'd think the banner was too stupid a spot to check. Then there was the sound of a door opening. "Your Majesty." More clanking. Possibly armored knees hitting the floor.

"What is the cause of the ruckus?" asked an aged voice.

"A thief has infiltrated the palace and stolen an Elder Scroll from the Imperial Library," said a curt woman.

"Oh, my."

"We are searching every floor and every chamber. We will find him, your Majesty."

"I certainly hope so. Well, as you can see, I am alone. If anyone had entered, I would have heard it."

"Of course, your Majesty. We wished to be certain of your safety. We will leave a guard outside your door, in any case."

"Thank you, Captain Renault. I am certain I will be quite safe. Do not neglect my sons in your diligence."

"Yes, your Majesty."

More movement and the door closed. Sharah remained frozen, listening intently to be certain that the coast was clear before she chanced going to find a better hiding place.

"You can come out now."

And her heart stopped again. One of these days it wasn't going to start back up. Sharah cursed inwardly and ultimately edged over to peek out from behind her concealment. Standing in the center of the room was a man in royal garb and a noble posture, smiling gently at her. Emperor Uriel Septim the seventh. Who else would the guards call 'Your Majesty'? She was definitely in trouble, and felt like she'd just been caught with her hand in the jar of sweets.

Her eyes flickered around the rest of the room, particularly toward the door she'd come in through. "My Blades are just outside," the Emperor said, "And there is no other way out of this room. I should know. I spent my youth trying to find one. But this room is quite secure. So you might as well come out and speak with me."

Sharah leaned back behind the banner, though not completely out of sight. She did not want to meet this man. Certainly not in these circumstances. Yes. Definitely her hand in the jar of sweets. He was right of course. She was caught. Pure and simple. But she still checked the security of her mask before stepping out into full view.

The Emperor continued to smile, "You know, the last time a young lady stole into my chambers, it was for a very different reason." He chuckled, recalling some fond memory. She didn't. Her thoughts immediately focused on the fact that she was standing before the most powerful man in Tamriel and felt like nothing more than a rat in a trap. Besides, he couldn't possibly be referring to something like Burd and Narina. That was simply too strange to even imagine.

The Emperor continued, "So you managed to steal an Elder Scroll. That is quite a feat, even given where you ended up. I might have expected the Gray Fox to be the culprit. But I find myself surprised."

Sharah didn't speak. Didn't see much of a point. He'd call in his guard before too long. Her chase was over. She was caught. She'd failed Gray. And once they removed off her mask and identified her, she'd be labeled a thief to the world. She'd be a disgrace to her already floundering guild. Probably executed or at least imprisoned. And if Gray or someone else in the guild did manage to spring her, she'd still be a fugitive for the rest of her days. So, with all of this in mind, why did the Emperor feel the need to continue teasing her with idle chatter? Or did he just enjoy torturing her with the anticipation of her fate?

"If you are not the Gray Fox, then you must be his protégé. I know well he is not a fairy tale. Although the Gray Fox's Shadow is a new aspect to the mythos." He couldn't possibly have seen her surprise under the mask, but still he smiled, "One does not rule an Empire without keeping aware of the goings on. And I am privileged to be the one to learn that you are not a living shadow of the thief, but a thief in your own right, as flesh and blood as I am."

Now he was mocking her? Sharah was actually tempted to just scream and get the guards in here and her arrest over with. The Emperor was certainly in no hurry.

"The Gray Fox must have had great confidence in you to task you with this theft." Silence. "Or perhaps he sent you so as not to risk being caught himself."

"He wouldn't do that," Sharah insisted.

The Emperor smiled, "Ah, so you can speak. And I was afraid I would have to carry both sides of this conversation."

Sharah cursed inwardly. He had a way of talking that made him feel like a friend she'd known all her life. Calming and easy. It got under her defenses, made her careless.

The Emperor became serious, "Do you know what you have stolen?"

Sharah stubbornly clamped her mouth shut but nodded.

"There is a danger in those scrolls. Especially to the untrained. A single attempt to read them can bring on permanent blindness."

Sharah opened her mouth despite herself, "I know. I saw the Moths."

"You did, did you?" The Emperor locked eyes with her, "Then answer me one last question: why did you steal it?" Gone was his easy tone. His voice had the power of an Emperor, and she was compelled to answer.

"This scroll is needed to break a curse on one who doesn't deserve it." As he looked at her, Sharah felt like he was peering into her very soul. Only the fact that she'd resigned herself to her fate kept her from squirming.

Then he looked away and toward the empty fireplace. Sharah figured he'd call the guards. But instead he said, "The palace has quite an ingenious system in their fireplaces. Disposal shafts built right into the walls. I suppose the Ayleids detested sweeping out ashes as much as we do. I remember dropping things down there as a child. My father's family ring for one. My mother was furious when she found out. And still, I never heard it hit the bottom. Who knows how far down it goes? Or what is at the bottom? Or where it comes out? If it comes out. I suppose we will never know. One would have to be very small to fit into the opening. And it would be quite the fall, I'm sure. Well, good night." The Emperor turned around and walked into his bedchamber, closing the door behind him.

Sharah stood, stunned. Wait…what?! Was she supposed to get herself arrested? Emperor or not, the man had to be senile. Had to be. He knew she had an Elder Scroll. Knew she'd stolen it. And when he'd caught her red handed, in his chambers, rather than call the guards to arrest her he'd started up a conversation and then rambled off about…soot chutes!

Sharah cast one look at the Emperor's door and darted toward the fireplace. There was a small dark opening with a grate just behind the fireplace rack. The edges were dusted with black powder from the remnants of countless fires that had been swept into it. This was what all of those small sheer channels were that Gray had seen on the diagram. And it explained the massive piles of soot down in the ruins. That's where they came out…was that where this one would come out? She could land in some random blocked off room with no way to escape. More likely she'd break both legs when she hit the bottom. She'd climbed so high up in the Tower, there was little chance of her surviving the fall.

Sharah looked down at her feet. The boots of Springheel Jak with their deep soaked enchantment. That might do it. But that would also mean that Savilla's stone had known for certain that she would end up down one of these chutes. She glanced over at the closed door again. Had it known about him too? Questions for later. Much later. No time for second guesses or contemplations. This was her way out and if she was going to take it, she had to take it now.

Sharah lifted the heavy grate out of the way. The opening was small but, then again, so was she. She slid down in, and wedged herself into the opening so that she could shift and lower the grate back into place above her. As a final thought, Sharah took her satchel and slid it around so that she held the precious Elder Scroll to her chest. No point in losing or damaging the scroll on her way down. Sharah took three deep breaths…then dropped. She crossed her ankles and shot like an arrow down the chute. She kept her eyes shut as she bounced back and forth against the stone wall, falling at what might end up being a break-neck pace, all the time praying she lived through the impact at the bottom.

She felt the narrow chute suddenly disappear, and after a moment of open air Sharah hit something solid. The boots absorbed most of the impact, but there was still a jolt of pain up her legs. Sharah immediately went tumbling, soot and ash shoving themselves into her mouth and nose as she rolled. The loose soot turned to stone and Sharah skidded to a halt, coughing and spitting out enough black powder to fill a bucket.

When she finally recovered, Sharah took a look around where she had landed. She recognized one of the rooms she'd passed through. And sure enough, she'd gone skidding down a several yard high pile of fireplace refuse that now sported the trail of her descent. Sharah felt the ash all over herself and creeping into every seam of her clothes. But first she checked the state of her prize. The Elder Scroll was just fine, although the motion of checking it had something digging into her rear. Sharah shifted and reach back to pull off the floor a ring of gold with a bright ruby embedded at its center and a dragon carved into the band. She looked back up at the chute. No…there was no way that this was…

Another question…for another time. Sharah shoved it into her pocket and stood up slowly. Nothing broken, certainly there were a few bruises though. Sharah carefully dusted off her clothes, taking account of the aches and pains in the process. When she reached her pants, Sharah saw her shoes. The boots of Springheel Jak had taken most of the impact. But while soot was a softer landing than stone, it was far from painless. The seams had ruptured, leaving Jak's boots with very large holes on all sides. She could feel the enchantment bleeding out through the torn threads. Now they were just ruined boots. But she owed her life to them.

Sharah stripped them off and spared one last look upward. She had stolen an Elder Scroll. An accomplishment greater than any theft she had ever heard of, save for the stealing of Nocturnal's Cowl. And…the Emperor had helped her escape. The Emperor. Of Tamriel. Had helped Sharah get away. With an Elder Scroll. She tried to think of a stranger thing that had happened in her lifetime, but couldn't think of any. Soul-stealing swords. Chats with Daedric Princes. Mad premonitions from mentally unstable magisters. No. This landed at the top of her list when it came to the unbelievable occurrences.

XXX

When Sharah woke up, Gray was still hunched over the Elder Scroll on her table, seeming not to have moved since she closed her eyes. Rather than disturb his concentration she eased back on her bed and tried to just clear her mind of all thoughts. Gray had been utterly elated when she'd placed the scroll into his hands. But even with all the months he'd spent learning how to translate the scroll, he still needed time to do it. Time she was perfectly willing to give him. But Sharah did not spare a glance at the scroll itself. All those blindfolds and blind priests were warning enough, and she wasn't going to chance losing her sight out of curiosity.

An hour later Gray shifted, closed the scroll before him and rubbed his eyes. "How are the eyes?" she asked.

Gray looked at her over his shoulder, squinting a little through the eyeholes of his cowl, "Lacking. But I'll live."

"And? Does it say what you're looking for?"

He nodded, "It…does. I just…"

"What?" Sharah tossed her legs over the side of her bed and stood up to approach him, "What? Did we miss something? Do we need something else?"

"No…I just didn't quite understand what this would do."

Sharah sat down with her eyebrow raised, "What do you mean?"

Gray lay his hand on the closed scroll, "When I read this aloud, it will break the curse."

"So…read it. What's the problem?"

"The scroll showed me other things. If Nocturnal's Cowl had never been stolen, the Thieves Guild would be different. Once the first Gray Fox fell to the curse, he couldn't operate in the normal world because he was a stranger to everyone without the Cowl. He could only act as the guild's figurehead. So the guild fell on hard times. I didn't realize just how much until I saw what the scroll showed me. There will be a guildhall, way stations, secure routes and safe havens all over the province. And the Thieves Guild won't just be a part of the province underworld, it will run everything without question." The way he was talking, Gray sounded like he was just rattling off a history book. The benefits to the Thieves Guild were not what was on his mind.

Sharah asked, "So…what's the problem?"

He said quietly, "I don't think anyone who doesn't hear me read this scroll will know the difference."

"And?"

Gray hesitated, "My wife…will not know the difference. I'll be able to go home, and she'll know me. But…what do I tell her?" He looked up at Sharah, "I vanished with no trace. I've been gone for ten years. What do I tell her?"

Sharah shrugged, "Tell her you've been under a daedric curse. What more do you need to say?"

"I can't…How do I go through the rest of our lives without telling her? I can't just pretend it didn't happen. I don't know if she'll even want me back?"

"Don't start with that, Gray. You can't start doubting now."

Gray buried his face in his hands, "I want to tell her…but I don't know how she'll react. Or if she'll even believe me. But…I want to tell her everything. I can't spend my life lying to her. But I don't know how to face her with this."

Sharah watched him agonize over his decision. He really was a good man. He was the Gray Fox, the most notorious criminal in the province. And all he could think about was _how_, not _if_, he was going to tell his wife everything. Sharah never even worried about that. She kept her secrets willingly from her guild, and never questioned whether telling the truth was an option. She'd only rarely felt guilt over it. Even when they called her an asset to the guild.

Sharah stood up, "Alright, let's go."

Gray looked up hesitantly, "Go…?"

"To Anvil, Gray. We'll decide the particulars between here or there. But after all we've been through, I'll be damned if you're not going home."

**I intended for this chapter to go all the way to the completion of the Thieves Guild questline. But it was getting long, so that will have to wait until Ch 26. Stay tuned, and leave a comment below while you're waiting for the update.**


	26. A Curse Broken

**Wow...I really got going on this. This chapter was going to be way long so I broke it into two parts. Hopefully that means the next update will be sooner. So enjoy! Again, read and review, leave a comment to tell me if you like what I'm writing for you.**

**And for those of you who kept pestering me about a Gray/Sharah romantic thing...Give it a rest! He's got a wife and two kids, you little home-wreckers. Sheesh!**

Sharah kept an eye on Gray as they went, "How are the eyes?" He wasn't seeing so well, which meant Sharah was giving the cues to move or wait.

He replied, "The same."

Sharah kept them going, dodging the patrols as they went up into the Lords manor part of the castle, which was in the upper levels in Castle Anvil. Good thing it was supper time because the hallways were fairly clear of civilians. There was one guard stationed at the door they were headed for. Sharah downed an invisibility potion and dashed across the hallway. Some jostling of a suit of armor drew the guard away. Sharah circled back around before he got back to find Gray already inside.

He was standing unmoving, looking around the room in something close to awe. Like he'd never dreamed of being back here. "…She changed the curtains…She was always talking about doing that."

Sharah said quietly, "Gray, there's still time to do it before she gets here. If you want."

It was another moment before he shook his head, "No. This is right. Whatever happens…I want her to know."

She let him rove the chambers while Sharah watched the door. He needed to get his bearings, or get his courage, or something. The room was a promise and a center for him. A reminder of what he had, and a hope for what he would have again.

He'd wandered out to the balcony when Sharah heard the fore-chamber door opened. She ducked into a curtained alcove as Countess Millona Umbranox entered with her guard. The guard departed after a short conversation which left Sharah and Gray alone with the Countess. Gray was still outside.

The Countess dawdled at her desk, looking over a few documents. Sharah was still trying to figure out how to handle this when Gray stepped into view in the balcony door. The Countess froze on the spot and took a breath to scream. At the same instant Sharah leapt from her hiding place and wrapped one hand over her mouth and wedging the other between the woman's biceps and shoulder blades, effectively locking them in place. The scream that came out was muffled as the Countess realized that she'd been ambushed. Millona immediately started writhing and struggling, while screaming her head off against the hand over her mouth. This was not going well. And Gray was just standing there like a half-wit.

"Gray, would you whip that thing out already? She's here. Let's get this over with."

The Countess heard Sharah and struggled all the more desperately. Gray fumbled with his satchel, "Please, don't hurt her."

Millona bucked her head back and caught Sharah's chin with her skull. "Ow! Gods dammit! Me hurt her? Get on with it." To the countess, "Calm down, would you. This is not nearly as bad as it seems."

Gray pulled out the Elder Scroll and unfurled it. The script trapped his eyes like it had before, but this time he openly declared the knowledge that was before him, "By the power of the Elder Scroll, I name Emer Dareloth as the true thief of Nocturnal's Cowl."

The ground under their feet remained stable and the only motion of air came from the open door onto the balcony, but somehow the world around them shifted at the name, like a stone had been dropped into the pond of the world. The very fabric of existence warped and pressed inward, shoving at the scroll and resisting the change that the name had called. But there was a bubble of power about the enchanted document that would not be denied. History and existence clung to itself as stubborn as a mule. The invisible battle raged, pressure that had nothing to do with air or magicka. Existence bent and warped, then shattered. A power from the Elder Scroll rushed outward like a whirlwind, sweeping away the fog and haze that had hidden stricken names of Gray Foxes from history. It cast out to the ends of the Mundus, altering the world as it went.

Then the sensation was gone and all was quiet. Even Millona had stopped struggling, struck by what had occurred even if she didn't understand it. Sharah glanced around. Even with all that happening, nothing seemed different. She looked back at Gray, "Did it work?"

He seemed as uncertain as she was. Then his fingers darted to his Cowl. He fumbled for a moment before ripping it off and revealing his face for all to see. Sharah looked and knew him. From a previously foggy corner of her mind, she recalled seeing him at the meeting of the Thieves Guild and him sitting at her table months before she'd met the Fox, forging the recommendation for Hieronymus Lex.

Gray only had eyes for Millona Umbranox. And he looked at her desperately. "Do you know me?" he asked, his voice strained.

The Countess's entire posture had changed with the removal of Gray's mask. Sharah gave her slack and then let go slowly as the woman took a hesitant step forward. Gray's face was a whirl of hope and fear and longing and a hundred other unspoken emotions as she closed the distance between them. Millona lifted a shaking hand toward his face. When her fingers touched his cheek, she leapt back upon finding him solid.

Gray didn't move a muscle. Millona's hand lifted toward him a second time. But part way, something changed. Sharah only had the time to wince as the hand snapped forward and struck him across the face. For a noblewoman, she had quite the arm.

"How dare you? How _dare_ you?!"

"Millona—," Gray pleaded.

"No! I will hear nothing from you," she declared.

Gray held out his hands, begging, "Please, Millona. I…I'm so sorry."

The Countess whirled on him, "Ten years, Corvus. Ten years! I have waited for ten years for word from you. Looking for some sign that you were alive. And now I learn you left because of this!" She spat the last word jabbing an accusatory finger toward the worn cowl in his hand. Gray dropped it like the cloth scalded. But it didn't stop Millona, "I wanted to believe the rumors weren't true. That you weren't moonlighting as a thief when you went out at night. But, you just leaving me and our children…to be the Gray Fox! How dare you come back like this?!"

She raised her hand to strike him again, and Gods knew Gray fully intended to take the blow. But Sharah caught Millona's arm at its apex, "Now, hang on there, Countess."

The Countess turned her ire on Sharah, "And what part did you have to play in all this?" Sharah read the anger and hurt in the woman's eyes. She feared the worse. Feared that her husband had abandoned his duties and wife and children to gallivant around as a master thief with some young tart in a black mask.

Sharah said evenly, "Your husband came to me about a year ago and asked me to help him get back to his family. Let me assure you, my lady, he has done nothing for the last ten years but try to return to you." Millona glared between Sharah and Gray, wanting at once to find a reason to disbelieve the young woman and to believe the words were absolutely true. Gray didn't look in mental shape to try and explain, so Sharah took the initiative, "Your husband disappeared because he fell in with a Daedric Curse. Nocturnal's Cowl. Once he put it on, no one in Tamriel could recognize him. His name and face were stricken from memory and history, just like every Gray Fox before him. It wasn't that he didn't want to come back. It's that he couldn't. I've no doubt he stood right in front of you countless times but you never recognized him because of the curse."

Millona remained still for a moment, processing everything. Then she turned to Gray hesitantly, "Is this true?"

He nodded, his head bouncing like it was on a single hinge, "Yes. I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just…I'm so sorry."

"And…what just happened…" The countess couldn't find the words to describe it.

"The power of an Elder Scroll, breaking the curse. It's the only reason you can recognize him without the Cowl. The only reason anyone can. And let me tell you, it was a bitch to get," Sharah said. The unspoken 'so you should appreciate it enough to give him a chance' hung in the air afterward.

Millona hesitated, then looked at the scroll that Gray had dropped when he'd gone for his cowl, "An Elder Scroll…"

Gray regained his voice, "I know I did wrong. I never should have gotten involved with the thievery. And it was a mistake to even touch the Cowl when I came across it. A mistake that has cost us ten years. I can't make up for what I've done. I can't even begin. But please know that I've spent every day of the last ten years regretting all of it. Every single thing I did wrong by you. And our children."

Millona was softened. The anger was replaced by hope and relief, then equally as fast by pain. She pressed a hand over her mouth and paced haltingly, trying to maintain herself. She turned back to Gray, the hand falling to her breast, "You have broken my heart for a second time. Even if all you say is true…you are the Gray Fox. I… I cannot allow a criminal to become the Count of Anvil."

Gray crossed the room to her and dropped to his knees, pressing the hem of her dress to his lips. Then he looked up at her, "I won't ask you to. Whatever you choose to do, whatever you ask of me, I will accept it. Even imprisonment or execution, if that's what you want. But I swear to you, that life is over with. Whatever happens now, I renounce my life of crime forever. I will never be the Gray Fox again. I just wanted you to know everything."

The minutes stretched out, Gray kneeling before his beloved with his heart utterly laid bare beneath her gaze. Sharah saw the woman's lower lip tremble before the strangled cried caught in her throat. Then she fell to her knees and threw her arms around her husband. He held her close in response, burying his face in her shoulder, which muffled the sobs.

Sharah left them like that. Their reunion was worth what privacy she could give them. Her part was done. Sharah stepped softly and went to pick up the Elder Scroll from the floor, angling her eyes so as not to catch the merest glance of whatever text was written while she rolled it up. Then she tucked it into her satchel and turned toward the balcony door. As a last thought, she snatched the Cowl of Nocturnal off the floor and shoved it in with the scroll.

Sharah took one last look at the pair, still on their knees and looking like they were never going to let go of each other. Yeah, everything was going to be fine. Millona was going to take him back and Gray…Corvus…would be ok. She saw them and just knew that he was going to be alright.

She closed the outer door behind her, and then pulled out a stretch of rope from her satchel. A quick knot on the railing and she was over the edge, vanished into the night.

XXX

Sharah returned to her house and slipped in though the back window she had left ajar just for this purpose. Once it was latched shut, Sharah peeled off her mask and tossed it toward a table in the room. She didn't know if it made it to the surface or not. And she didn't stop there. As she crossed the conservatory, Sharah was simultaneously lifting the strap of her satchel over her head, unlacing her shirt and walking out of her boots. She walked out of the conservatory, down the hallway, past the dining hall, and into the kitchen, leaving a trail of dark clothing behind her. And as she went, Sharah flipped baskets.

By the time she'd reached the kitchen, Sharah was in naught but her undergarments with the satchel rapped over one shoulder. She spotted the robe she'd abandoned down here at one point and tossed it over her shoulders to ward off the chill. She was such a slob. And if there were someone else in the house, she'd make the effort to pick up after herself. But that would happen tomorrow. For right now she was alone in her manor of a home and didn't give a flying leap what fell where.

As if to prove a point, Sharah grabbed a plate and loaded it with a hunk of bread, some cheese, venison, and a sweet roll. Then grabbed a bottle of wine and its goblet companion from the cabinet. She didn't normally like wine, preferring the sweetness of mead. But she did like the good stuff. And Shadowbanish wine was certainly that. And there was the added aspect that Sharah had personally recovered each of her bottles from the ruins of old Legion forts. It made them taste all the better. And Sharah had every intention of downing the entire bottle tonight.

She stepped back into the hallway and glanced back the way she'd come. Her clothes dotted the stone and fine rugs like muddy footprints tracked into the house. But the benefit of leaving such evidence with every step was that the more that fell, the less of it clung to her. Like she'd shed her dirty deeds and let them drop off along the way, leaving her free of their weight. So Sharah walked barefoot down the hall, letting her strides and wine bottle swing freely. And flipping baskets as she went.

Her manor was gorgeous, no doubt about it. Everything from the white stone walls and floor, to the carved door frames, to the high vaulted ceilings was noble and majestic. The furniture and decorations were equal to the manor's quality. Which meant that even if Sharah didn't have a noble's eye when she decorated, everything turned out in perfect good taste anyway. Which in turn meant she didn't have to waste time actually learning a noble's good taste at all.

And what pushed it all over the top was her choice of lighting. With each little cloth lined basket Sharah flipped, she revealed a blue crystal that was so brightly lit from within that they glowed white. Sharah had done what the Septim monarchy should have: she adopted the lighting design of the Ayleids. No dripping wax, no replacing lamp oil, light that was bright and steady, and Sharah's was the only house she'd ever seen that sported the beautiful crystals. The only effort involved came before the fact: getting them free of their previous homes and making the little cloth lined baskets that doused their light when it wasn't needed.

Sharah reached her drawing room, one of those high vaulted rooms with an oversized hearth. The balcony on one side was held aloft by the elegant white pillars so those who sat above could enjoy the firelight as well as those below. Knowing nobles it was probably also used to eavesdrop on their guests when they thought no one else was around. But maybe that was cynical.

Sharah placed her wine on the table, the satchel on the upholstered chair opposite the one she'd occupy and went to stoke the fire. A few minutes later she had the flames dancing merrily, her food spread on the grate with the cheese melting all over slices of bread, her meat sizzling and the sweetrolls stuffed in her mouth while she worked. This was one of those few spots where the fire was preferred.

With dinner toasting Sharah flopped down into her chair and curled her legs up underneath her, licking the last of the frosting from her fingers without the least amount of dignity. Then she poured a goblet of wine and snuggled into the cushioned seat.

Tonight she was going to enjoy herself. While Gray…Corvus…and his wife spent the night making up for lost time, Sharah was going to have a celebration of her own. It would be a small, private affair, but with food and drink for everyone present. A proper farewell party for the Gray Fox and his Shadow.

Sharah had never wanted to be a thief. Even if she was good at it. Her calling came with a blade in her hand. The only reason she'd stayed in all the shady business had been for the sake of Gray…Corvus…and his curse. Now it was broken and he was back with his family, exactly where she'd promised she'd get him. Now she was all too willing to hang up the mask for good. After all, she'd stolen an Elder Scroll. As a thief, what could she possibly do to top that?

Speaking of which…Sharah leaned over the table, careful of the wine bottle, and snatched her satchel from where it lay. The Elder Scroll was going back. She'd already decided that. It had served its purpose. No reason to hoard the thing. It wasn't like she had any interest in reading it. No. Way. She knew when to call her curiosity to heel and tell it to be quiet.

Sharah did want to get another proper look at the outside though. She unstrapped the satchel's flap to reveal the scroll. It felt heavier than it should have, and not just because the scroll rods looked to be made of gold. The whole thing had this physical and intangible weight to it. A testament to the knowledge it held written in whatever script that was on the page.

As she pulled it all the way free, something plopped into her lap. Staring limply up at her was Gray's mask…Corvus's mask…damn, she was never going to get that straight. The Cowl of Nocturnal. The cause all this business.

Sharah picked up the mask as she set the Elder Scroll aside. It didn't look all that dangerous draped over her hand. More like a weathered old rag with eye holes. It hardly looked like a cursed Daedric artifact. Or even really like what Gray had been wearing all this time. But she knew better than to trust its benign appearance.

Staring down at the mask in her hands, she found a lot of considerations running through her head. This was Nocturnal's Cowl. It had been stolen from her by that Emer Dareloth. And considering how she retaliated, the Daedric Prince hadn't appreciated it. And Nocturnal was the patron of thieves and the Thieves Guild. The basis of the Guild's traditional well-wishing 'Shadow hide you'. And Sharah doubted she had escaped the Daedra's attention considering she'd done the prince a favor, carried one of her artifacts, and had played such a pivotal role in breaking her curse. Hell, Sharah was probably one of Nocturnal's favorites considering how many close calls she'd come out alive from. But even with all this to consider, there was really only one place Sharah could thing of for the Cowl to go.

She dropped the Cowl on her chair and went over to the hearth. After removing her supper from the grate and leaning the metal out of the way, Sharah went back for the Cowl. All the pain and isolation of dozens of people over the decades, all caused by this little scrap of cloth. Daedra had some twisted sense of humor. Sharah turned back to the fire, hand poised to fling the mask into the flames.

"It will do you no harm, mortal."

Sharah whirled around, now prepared to hurl the Cowl at whoever was the voice's source. She searched the shadows, seeing no one, before her eyes came to rest on a bird sitting on the railing above her. Sharah was absolutely positive there was not an open window in the house. But before she could start wondering how a raven had gotten inside, an aura washed over her, powerful and rife with secrets and mystery born of both greed and curiosity. She recognized the aura and so the voice. So she didn't even have to wonder who had called her 'mortal'.

Sharah eased out of her aggressive stance and waved the Cowl up at the bird, "You here for this, Nocturnal?"

Nocturnal's voice issued from the bird, "My Cowl has been absent hardly long enough to be noticed. Or perhaps it has been so long that I have grown accustomed. Regardless, I have not come to reclaim it."

"Then what are you here for?" Sharah asked.

The bird remained silent. Sharah managed to stifle the growl in her throat to an exacerbated sigh. Nocturnal was one of those Daedra who had an aversion to straight answers. Probably a fatal one considering how informative she was.

"You know, you could have taken it back decades ago and no one would have minded," Sharah said.

"But then what purpose would it have served?" the Daedra inquired.

"What purpose did it serve being here?"

The raven was silent again. And Sharah could have sworn it was smirking at her. This time Sharah did growl and had to talk herself down. The rule for nobles applied doubly so for Daedra, and even more for the Princes. Don't tick off a Daedra. Don't tick off a Daedra. Not that she'd always held to the rule, but still. And especially this Daedra. Sharah never asked for money from the thieves of the Guild, but luck was another thing altogether. Do not tick off the Daedra.

Nocturnal's laughter came like a flutter of wings, "In another of your lives, I would have been pleased to claim your service."

Sharah's head came up, "What was that business that earned me your key then?"

"That was to another purpose. Besides, one cannot claim what already belongs to another."

Now the bird had her attention, "What? What do you mean? Which one? Which Daedra claims me?" She'd had dealings with several of them, but Sharah hadn't heard anything about a claim on her service. She really wasn't the prostrate worshiping type either, for Daedra or Divines.

The bird went back to smirking. Alright, this whole 'no answer' bit was getting tiresome. Before Sharah could come up with her next comment, Nocturnal said, "My Cowl will do you no harm, mortal. You have done your task admirably. The Cowl will fade back into my realm, even if you do not destroy it, as there is no longer a curse to bind it to the mortal plain. But the effect remains. Use it if you will. And know you will have an ally in me when the time comes." And the bird vanished in a flurry of feathers which cascaded down and evaporated when they touched the floor.

Sharah remained looking at the now empty rail. That Daedra confused her. And probably enjoyed doing it. She'd just dropped by to let Sharah know she could use the Cowl to her heart's content with no curse attached. And that she'd be an ally? Why would Sharah need a Daedra as an ally?

And then there was that service bit. What Prince had claimed her? Meridia? Azura? Namira? Peryite? Clavicus Vile? Oh, that last one was a lovely thought. He still had it out for her over that Umbra thing.

Sharah considered tossing the Cowl in to burn anyway, but ended up leaving it on the mantle. Then went back to her wine. The celebratory mood was broken. The Cowl hid one's identity behind that of the Gray Fox. She didn't want to be the Gray Fox. But truth be known, she was thinking seriously about the hiding now.

With the curse business done and gone, the only thing left to do was go back to her guild. The guild she'd been gone from for two months. Sharah downed the rest of her wine without tasting it but didn't refill the goblet. She'd just disappeared for two months. And she couldn't even tell them why. Sharah nestled into her chair and didn't feel so hungry anymore. If she wasn't received well, perhaps disappearing beneath the Cowl wouldn't be so bad an option.

XXX

She had to come back to the Anvil Guildhall. Being in Chorrol would be hard, Leyawiin would be a nightmare, but Anvil…Anvil would border on unbearable. She just knew it. She'd met them here, Lashana and Cargas. Sharah took a few deep breaths on the threshold before entering.

Yes, there was the practice arena, right in the first room. The three of them would alternate between which one of them was receiving bruises and which two were wincing sympathetically on the side lines. They'd forged their friendship here. If she was going to break down, now would be it…but…no, the mental walls were still there. Still strong. Still keeping the emotions out.

But she chose to walk the building…just to be sure. They'd first met in the storage room. Lashana and Cargas arguing over the others' fitness for guild membership: mercenary versus healer. They'd demanded that Sharah weigh in when she'd stepped in the doorway. They'd dragged her out of her shell in a matter of weeks with all their enthusiasm.

But the place that drew Sharah was the long bedchamber. It was as close to a barracks as you could get without actually joining the military. And that corner…How many nights had they gathered over there? How many times had they put their heads together in the night, chattering about boys and weapons and their embarrassing moments? How many times had the three of them, grown women all, built a fort from blankets and clustered conspiratorially beneath, utterly unconcerned with whether or not their candle was going to light the fabric on fire? And how many boots had flown across the room when their guildmates had finally had enough of their late-night gossiping?

Sharah stood there remembering. But the fondness and the sadness were muffled beyond her mental barriers. No, she wouldn't break here. But Sharah recognized also that this would be a sad way to live, eternally isolated by her fear of the grief. It was a clear recognition that she'd lacked in regards to her family, and one that presented itself with abundant clarity now in regards to her guild.

A tap on her shoulder brought Sharah from her musings. Rhano, her old trainer. She gave no happy greeting because the smile would be insincere. "Azzan wants to see you," he said simply.

Sharah nodded and walked out of the bedchambers and toward the stairs. She saw some guildmates she knew, fewer she didn't. None looked at her with anything but uncertainty, like she was a ghost of a member in the hall. She certainly felt like it.

Azzan, the head of the Anvil chapter, was at his desk upstairs in his office. He was tapping a quill when she entered, apparently waiting of her because he dropped it and stood up when she walked in. Not knowing what else to do, Sharah went to stand at attention before his desk, just like a hundred times before.

Azzan was a good man. Well-liked by his chapter. So well-liked that plenty of members who came for training didn't leave once it was done, requesting assignment in the guildhall or becoming trainers themselves. He was pleasant, honorable and followed the rules. And he was good with a mace. Not as good as Oreyn but he was willing to take time from his administrative duties to train others in use of blunt weaponry. It was all of this that landed him the position of chapter-head.

But he didn't look precisely pleasant right now. When Sharah fell into attention, he took account of her. Sharah wasn't wearing her wolf armor, just normal leathers. Really, she didn't feel up to donning the mark of her moniker yet. She must look like she'd always looked to him, if perhaps a bit more experienced and a bit sadder.

"We're glad you came back, Sharah," Azzan finally said. Sharah could tell he meant more than just to the Anvil guildhall.

She inclined her head slightly, "Of course I came back. The Guild is all I have." Not an answer to inspire confidence but it was truthful.

Azzan shifted into a more formal pose, and his tone became that of one doing something that did not please them, "I'm sorry to do this. I truly am. But I need your guild patch." Sharah stiffened and Azzan hurried say, "You're not being expelled from the guild. But word came from headquarters that you're to be demoted to your previous rank."

Ah, so he was just following orders. Orders from headquarters…orders from Vilena. So even with Oreyn expelled, Sharah was not to be spared the lash. And considering no one could have known which guildhall she would come back to, chances were that every guildhall had received the same instruction.

Sharah pulled loose the strap for her guild patch and handed it over to him. Azzan took it, removed the mark of a Warder and replaced it with another. Then he handed it back to her, an apology in his eyes. Sharah looked down and was vaguely surprised. Swordsman. How many ranks down was that? Three? Four? When Vilena said previous rank, she meant it. This was the rank she'd held before Oreyn's original summons. Before she'd begun working for him directly. Truly, all his hard work with both her and Viranus was now undone. Warder to Swordsman in one fell swoop. It was quite a fall. Then again, it was odd to realize how far she'd advanced. Oreyn had really been throwing promotions at her, hadn't he?

She restrapped her patch into place, "I don't suppose you've heard anything more about Oreyn?"

Azzan shook his head, "Only that he's been barred from the guildhalls."

That was harsh treatment for the former guild-second. Especially considering the guild had been his life for decades. Sharah knew the loss Vilena was going through…but Oreyn had no one to turn to. The guild was all he'd had. His life. And now it had been taken from him. Vilena must realize just what a blow she'd dealt him. Perhaps she didn't realize how similar she and Oreyn really were now.

"And I don't suppose you know what Vilena is planning to do about Blackwood," Sharah ventured.

Azzan looked like he just caught the words that rushed to his mouth. Then he swallowed and said with great care, "I'm afraid I can't discuss that with a Swordsman…You understand."

Again, Sharah was only vaguely surprised. Right. With Oreyn expelled and her position at headquarters clearly revoked, she had no authority. She was no longer Oreyn's 'hard hand'. She was just another guildmember…just another guildmember.

"Yes," she replied evenly, "I understand. I suppose I'll just return to contracts then."

"I think that would be best."

Just contracts. Just like before. Like none of it had ever happened.

XXX

Sharah went back to the way it was before. Mostly. When she wasn't doing contracts she was out wandering the wilderness. But she kept to Anvil and the surrounding area. After going through a few old ruins and picking them clean of coin and treasure, Sharah filled out what funds she'd spent over the last few months. It was surprising how much wealth was still hidden away in these places. But perhaps most adventurers were put off by a few minotaurs and gas traps. It meant she could buy a hardy white horse from the Horse Whisperer stables.

But there were some differences. She didn't sleep in the guildhall, and she didn't train with her guildmates. Sharah tried the latter once and succeeded in knocking Rhano on his ass in the first fifteen seconds. Apparently, Oreyn's training had done its task. Which meant she didn't have much to learn from her old instructors.

But it all felt empty. The guildhall, the contracts, the adventuring. Even her Ra Gada urge was still muffled to her mind's eye. It was just that Sharah felt she should be doing something with her time. Even if her heart wasn't in it. So she just went back to the way it was before.

She completed one contract in Anvil, escorting a scholar down to a subterranean Daedric shrine. It wasn't difficult, in any sense. Azzan could have sent his dog, Mojo, to do the task and it would have turned out fine. Then there came a messenger hawk from Bruma. Apparently there had been a high profile theft and Alderil asked that they send Sharah to handle it.

Sharah didn't bother asking how Alderil knew she'd turned up again, or how he'd known where to call on her. And it wasn't like she was waiting around for Oreyn's next task. So Sharah was perfectly willing to pack up and leave for Bruma. The travel would give her a chance to finish off her Gray Fox business for good. And there was a particular goodbye that she needed to say.

**Reviews are loved. Please leave a comment below.**


	27. The New Gray Fox

**Here's the next update. Along with a couple notes:**

**1) CALL FOR OC's! I didn't even realize my readers might want to put in OC's. Yeah, guest, absolutely. There are a plethora of empty character slots coming up that I would love to have assistance in filling those up. Assassins, mages, thieves, warriors, ordinary citizens. You name it, I probably need it. If anyone would like to give me an OC, however well or un-developed, I will make the effort to put them in. Even if you send me an empty character husk or a personality quirk, I will be a happy camper.**

**2) I've begun my Shadow of the Wolf story. Sharah's time in the Thieves Guild and a prequel to this one. I'd love for my readers to check it out.**

**Now that that's out of the way...ONWARD!**

Corvus Umbranox stepped out onto the balcony of his and his wife's personal chambers. The last of the light of sunset was glimmering at the horizon, reflecting on the vast expanse of ocean and fading away across the equally expansive sky. Years ago this view had inspired an intense restlessness in his soul. Now, however, it just reflected the inner peace of his heart.

"It is quite a view up here, isn't it?"

Corvus chuckled. He didn't need to look over to recognize the voice of his companion. The one he owed his deliverance to. Corvus turned to the figure seated on the railing. Her form was blurred in his eyes, but he could still make out that she was reclining against the wall at the balcony's edge with one leg dangling over the side as though she were sitting only a few feet above the earth, and not on the edge of a great fall. Corvus walked toward her, but his smile vanished when an all too familiar mask swam into focus. He squinted to be sure and was aghast.

She cocked her head, the concern he could not read on her face coloring her tone instead, "Eyes holding up for you?"

Corvus said unbelieving, "You…you put on the Cowl…"

Sharah touching the Cowl of Nocturnal on her face, "Yes. But don't worry. That Scroll did its job. People in town still know me without it."

"But…why? I would think, after all you saw…why did you take the risk?"

"Because Nocturnal told me I could use it without consequence. And…" She continued sadly, "Not all of us have a loving family to go back to. And at the time…being erased from history didn't sound so bad." Sharah forced a smile, "But it looks like that's not going to happen. I'm heading up north on a contract and I just wanted to drop by and see how things were going for you?"

Corvus nodded, still a little shocked, "Yes…everything's fine. Um…My eyesight will never be the same, but I was expecting that. I don't know if Millona will ever completely forgive me but she's done more than enough taking me back into her life. She'll do the ruling, and I can't say I mind. The children though…I didn't think they grew up so fast. They don't really know me but…we're working on it. Developing a relationship. It's more than I could have hoped for."

"And your disappearance?" Sharah inquired, "Certainly people have asked about it."

"Millona and I already decided on a vague explanation. A daedric curse. And that I can't remember a thing. If the Emperor can do it, why not I?" He hesitated a moment, "Are you alright? If you actually wanted to put on the Cowl—"

"Everything's fine, Gray. As fine as it can be. I'm not leaving my guild. But I can't say I won't be using this mask off and on. You know, I wondered: if you weren't really much of a thief, how did you manage to teach me so much about the art? I didn't realize you had a cheat sheet in your mask. Having the experience of every Gray Fox there's ever been in your head…that's not an advantage to scoff at."

Corvus replied, "It had its benefits….I don't know how to repay you for all you've done—"

"And you don't have to," Sharah interrupted, "Just take care of your family, Gray. And try to keep yourself out of the guild."

He smiled a little, "That won't be a problem. And my name is Corvus."

The newest Gray Fox grinned at him, "Sorry…but you'll always be Gray to me." Then she slipped off the balcony and vanished over the side.

Corvus rushed over but couldn't pick out the small spot of shadow that was beetling down the wall, finding handholds where there seemed to be none. He smiled sadly, uttering one last time, "Shadow hide you."

XXX

Hieronymus Lex, Captain of the Anvil City Watch, walked the walls for the last time of the evening. The main body of the guard had already retired to the barracks, and the majority of the current watch was centered inside the castle. The late guard would pass over the walls periodically, but Captain Lex preferred to do a final walk himself before retiring. The sun had set and the sky was growing dark. With the calm and the quiet and the sound of the ocean waves, it was almost too easy to let down one's guard, even after all a year of being in the city.

So Captain Lex was dumbfounded when a dark clad figure darted into his sight further down the rampart. The figure saw him and when the captain saw the mask he almost couldn't believe it. Captain Lex actually had to shake himself back into full awareness, "STOP!"

The figure acted to the contrary and took off in the opposite direction. Captain Lex pursued, running for all he was worth after the intruder. He gained ground when they paused to unlock the door to the southwest tower. Captain Lex reached it after they'd gone inside and heard footsteps above him. He took the stairs two at a time, drawing his sword at the top step. He leapt through the door onto the tower's roof and saw the intruder before him, looking around for a way out. But there was none but the door behind him. "There's nowhere to go. Just surrender," Captain Lex demanded.

The Gray Fox turned on him. After an instant's consideration, she replied gravely, "There is one way out. You're not going to take me alive." She took a few steps and leapt up onto the wall.

Captain Lex knew what she saw below. The tower was anchored on the cliffs and he could hear the crashing of waves against the stone, knowing that it roared and frothed about the jagged rocks and swirled into whirlpools between them. Captain Lex blanched. A fall from here was death for certain. And after all these years of chasing his quarry, he wanted the Gray Fox captured. Not dead.

"Wait. WAIT!" The Fox hesitated at the edge. Captain Lex let his sword fall limp and gingerly tossed it away to clatter against the wall to his right. Then he held up his hands in a placating gesture, "Just take it easy. You don't want to take that jump. And I don't want to do you harm. Just, step down off that ledge and no one needs to get hurt."

The Gray Fox's previous seriousness evaporated. She clasped her hands to her chest and tittered, "Auhhhhhh. Lex, you do care."

Captain Lex didn't know what to make of it. He did know that the Gray Fox, the master thief that he'd spent his life trying to catch, was right in front of him. He'd only seen the thief once, and only a glimpse in the dark. Now the thief was in full view before him and…he couldn't believe it…

The Gray Fox crossed her arms, "Didn't your mother teach you it's rude to stare."

"You're…you're a woman."

Her hands went to her hips and she cocked them irritably, "Excuse me?!"

Captain Lex flustered, "I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean…" What was he doing apologizing to a thief? Lex regained his composure, "You are under arrest for…for…" He'd written the 'Wanted' posters and Lex suddenly couldn't think of anything the Gray Fox was to be charge with. "For all sorts of things. Just come down and I swear that you won't be hurt. You're going to stand trial and pay for the crimes you've committed."

The Fox smiled at him, "And if I don't?"

"There's nowhere for you to go now. You're caught. Just come quietly."

She laughed, "What makes you think you've caught me?"

Lex looked at the distance between where she stood and the edge. Lex was a man of the law. But he considered any unnecessary death to be a travesty. Even the death of a thief. "The only exit is at my back. You can't escape."

She held out her arms, "Am I in shackles? Am I behind bars? Is there an army of guards closed in around me? No, my dear Lex, you have not caught me yet." Lex saw the point and moved toward her slowly. If he could just get a hand on her he could pull her down and away from the ledge. She saw his movement and put a heel at the very edge of the stone wall with a stern warning, "Not another step, Lex." The Captain backed off and the grin returned, "He can be taught!" Lex put his head to finding a way out of this. They were at a stalemate. The Gray Fox watched him for a few moments. "Well?"

He hadn't come up with anything. "Well, what?"

The Gray Fox crossed her arms expectantly, "Oh, come on, Lex. You've been chasing me all these years. I'm finally here. Isn't there anything you want to ask me?"

Captain Lex growled, "No." He just wanted to get her away from the ledge and behind bars.

The Fox snorted and rolled her eyes, "Spoil-sport. And here I had hoped that putting you on the Golden Coast might mellow you out a little bit."

Lex's eyes widened, then narrowed, "I knew it. I knew you were behind it. You're the one who orchestrated my transfer here."

The Fox grinned and bowed dramatically, "It's true. I take full credit. But really, Lex, what other option did I have? In the capital you were constantly getting in the way and making a general nuisance of yourself. Like a toddler underfoot really. But I wouldn't complain if I were you. I could have done a lot worse. Really, there were other options than sticking you in a cushy captain position out here on the beach."

Captain Lex was fuming but kept very still. He'd been chasing the Gray Fox all his days as a soldier. He'd set his sights on the Imperial City's Waterfront early on, knowing it for the den of villainy that it was. And as a Captain of the Imperial Watch, Lex had had the authority to corner all underworld business on two separate occasions. But he'd been outmaneuvered both times and forced to let the Waterfront continue their…business.

Then, before he could try again, he'd been transferred to Anvil. It was all too well orchestrated. Someone had to be pulling strings to keep him at bay. And he knew it had to be the Gray Fox. The thief people mocked him for pursuing. But they wouldn't mock him now. Knowing for certain that his suspicions were true, he was dead set on taking the Gray Fox into custody and clearing his name.

The Gray Fox regarded him, "You're not a bad man, Lex. You're very honorable. You care about the people. I can't tell you how much I respect that. But you're not going to catch me. And pulling that whole earnest Fox hunt out here is only going to do you ill. I would recommend that you look at what you have before you start rocking the boat."

Captain Lex hesitated. He remembered someone else telling him that at one point. But he couldn't remember who.

The Gray Fox eased backward until she was standing on the balls of her feet with her heels hovering out in the empty air, still smiling, "Take care of yourself, Lex. And take care of the Countess and her Count. I really approve of their choice of curtains."

Captain Lex leapt forward with his hands out stretched just as the Gray Fox leaned back. He didn't reach her in time. Lex watched helplessly as she fell through space, her final splash swallowed up in the torrent of the ocean. He stared in horror and astonishment. For the next week he would have the guard out looking for a body. They would never find one. Captain Hieronymus Lex knew there wasn't anyone alive who could have survived that fall. But the Gray Fox wasn't just anyone.

XXX

Back in the Imperial City, Sharah headed down to the Waterfront, feeling the bulk of her precious burden within her knapsack. When she passed through one of the stone arch pathways that a separated the docks from the Waterfront, Sharah paused. Something was…different. The Waterfront had always been a concentration point of all the worst of the city. And it still was but…something was different.

She made her way to her shack, still unable to figure it out. Once inside, Sharah stored the Elder Scroll down in the basement right beside Savilla's Stone that they'd left behind before going to Anvil. The torn bits of the boots were around here somewhere, but they could be considered trash at this point. Later tonight, Sharah would put on the Cowl and go return the scroll. She had an idea about how to get back in the Tower without being seen. One of those little inspired sparks the Cowl had given her.

But there was one thing she wanted to do beforehand. Now that Sharah had taken ownership of the Cowl…was she supposed to do anything for the Thieves Guild? And Armand and S'Krivva, the Gray Fox's doyens, were so secretive about their work. It made them seem like they were in constant contact with the Fox. But Gray had never given any indication he did anything in particular for the guild. She needed to ask. Because if the Gray Fox had actual responsibilities, she was just going to hand the Cowl off to someone…after returning the Elder Scroll, of course.

Right after sunset, Sharah walked the distance to the Garden of Dareloth, the Thieves Guild's regular meeting place. Sharah climbed up onto her preferred spot on top of the wall. She liked to look out at the rooftops while she waited. And she didn't mind sitting in the quiet with the sounds of the waves in her ears for a few hours before Armand turned up at midnight.

She was just passing into a sort of meditative state when the spell of night was broken by a cluster of voices. Sharah remained motionless, looking in the direction of their approach. It was a trio of youths. One she remembered seeing around the Waterfront before. A pickpocket in the making. The other two, she wasn't so sure. They came toward the Garden as Sharah listened to their conversation.

"Can you believe the Fox actually stole an Elder Scroll? I can't!"

"How do you even know it was the Fox?"

"Of course it was the Fox. Who else could it have been?"

"Well, I'm gonna steal so much no one will even remember that."

"Yeah, right. You're gonna have to get past Methredhel first. She's been really cranky lately."

"She's always cranky. Hey, maybe you should go kiss her. Maybe it'll make her feel better."

"Shut up!"

"Oh, you so want to."

The three didn't even realize they were being observed as they came into the Garden. Sharah watched as they came in, went to the great stone wall. One of them pressed on a certain stone and a part of the wall shifted inward and slid sideways to reveal a hidden entrance. Sharah sat up and took notice. That was new. The three of them did not see her and entered. The hidden doorway slid back into place and the wall was once again solid.

Sharah looked for a moment longer, then dropped off the wall to approach. She went looking for the stone. It was just one of many in the wall. But it had a watermark that looked a little like two crossed keys. Very subtle and natural looking, but definitely the mark of the Guild. And this was definitely new. No…new to her. Gray had talked about how the Thieves Guild had fallen on hard times after the Cowl's theft, and how things would be different now that that had been undone. The Waterfront didn't feel the same to her. Maybe this was just the first tangible thing she'd noticed.

Sharah followed the youths' example and pressed the stone. It gave way and the wall slid open before her. She entered cautiously, pressing the inner mechanism to close the door behind her which plunged the pathway into darkness. The stairs went down and the glimmer of torchlight increased.

When she reached the bottom of the pathway, she peaked around the corner to a warmly lit basement. There were a couple of tables set up as though for gathering, crates and sacks for storage and some equipment and clutter hanging around. In addition, there were a row of bedrolls laid against one wall. Sharah recognized on of the Waterfront guildmember's snoring gently on one of them.

After being sure there were no traps laid inside, Sharah stepped into the room silently. It had the air of familiarity even though she knew she'd never been here before. She wove between the supporting pillars. The sounds of the youths were coming from a closed door, as well as the familiar scraping and snapping of lockpicks. Then there was the stairway. It seemed the next logical place to go.

Sharah let the door open just a sliver so she could get a look inside. Again it was well lit, and better furnished than downstairs. A table spread with supplies. There were some cabinets that must have food in them, and some casks of drink. A table spread with supplies a thief might find useful, a bookshelf with a number of volumes on the shelves.

Pushing the door open further, she saw people in the room. A pair of thieves she knew at the table was talking about how some con or other would work in Leyawiin but not Skingrad. Methredhel was in the corner scribbling something in a notebook and two Dunmer members, one retired and the other a fence in fine clothing, were conversing nearby.

Nothing seemed threatening. In fact, these normally edgy thieves were positively at ease. Like they were comfortable here. Gray had said that the Thieves Guild would have a guildhall now. And be in charge of the underworld business as well. It would explain this place and why it all looked so fine. And she was still a member, so…Sharah pushed the door wider and stepped into the room.

Most of the people looked up momentarily, just to see who'd arrived. The pair at the table went straight back to conversation, Methredhel gave Sharah an even darker scowl than the usually did. No one was surprised she was there.

Just for curiosity's sake, Sharah walked the room trying to look casual. The books on the shelf were all about forgery and lockpicking and bargaining. True thief subjects. She peaked through the thick curtains at the windows. On the other side of the glass were wooden boards. To keep out peeping eyes? And this building…Sharah walked to the actual front door and tried the knob. The door was fixed in place.

Oh! This was the house at the end of the stone rib of Waterfront buildings. The one that had always been boarded up. But before the Elder Scroll, it had been too condemned for even thieves and beggars to dare living inside. Now…it was the Thieves Guildhall. Still boarded up to keep up appearances, but as fitting and perfectly placed as possible. Sharah smiled. How clever.

But she still had to find Armand. As if in answer, the door to upstairs opened and closed and the man in question came down the stairs, looking hurriedly around as though he were expecting someone. He scanned the room, his eyes passing right over her the first time. Then they came back and he looked straight at her and was stopped on a Septim. She felt like that first time she'd met his eyes, like she was being scrutinized and judged. Which made no sense considering everything she'd done as a thief so far. Sharah had more than earned her membership, even without her work with Gray.

Armand said aloud, "Sharah, would you come upstairs. I need to talk to you."

Well that had worked out. Because she wanted to talk to him too. Sharah climbed the stairs to the second floor, following Armand inside. The upstairs was even more impressive than downstairs. Like you climbed through guild rank and prestige with each floor. The initial room looked like a small meeting place. Through an open door to her right there was an office with all sorts of paperwork and scrolls stacked on a shelf with dividers and an organization that probably meant it was all the Thieves Guild business in Cyrodiil. So the guild probably did run everything. And ran it well to trust all that sensitive information to be secure in the guildhall. Sharah could only assume there were Imperial Guards on the payroll and any number of other precautions.

Armand seemed less rough than usual. He gestured to a seat rather than pointing and telling her to take it. And when he offered, "You want anything to drink?", she was really surprised. Was this another difference from the Scroll, or was he acting off today?

"Uh…no, thanks."

Sharah sat down but Armand remained standing…and looking at her. He'd been the one to call her up here so Sharah assumed it was appropriate to let him begin the conversation. The silence was just starting to get awkward when he came around the sofa and sat down, "You heard the Gray Fox stole an Elder Scroll?"

She replied, "Yes, I heard that. Very…impressive of him."

The doyen continued his silent scrutiny. And again, he broke the quiet after an unnecessarily long time. "You heard Nocturnal's Cowl's been passed?"

Inwardly, Sharah jerked and was trying to figure out how he could possibly know that. Outwardly she didn't give the slightest sign of her surprise. "No, I have not heard that."

Armand said, "Well it has. There's a new Gray Fox."

Sharah kept herself steady, "I heard the Gray Fox is immortal. Weren't you the one who told me he's been running this guild for three hundred years?"

He went back to his scrutinizing. "Have you ever met the Gray Fox?"

Sharah nodded once, "Yes. Why?"

"You know that Cowl he wears was Nocturnal's own garment? Her own mask. It's got a lot of daedric influence to it. Even after three hundred years away from its prince."

"And?"

He leaned forward, "And you have it on you right now." Sharah actually did stiffen. How could he possibly know that? As if he'd read her mind, Armand said, "I've been around the Gray Fox. I know what that Cowl of his feels like. I've got a sense for Daedric influence. And you've got that influence all over you right now."

Oh, Armand was one of those. There were people born with the ability to sense things Daedric. Well, everyone was born with some degree of it. It's why people's skin crawled when creatures and objects of Oblivion were conjured around them. But, like all such things, some people were more sensitive to it. They could tell when Daedra were near, or when the artifacts that held their influence were near. There was some idea that they had a better feel for the barrier between Mundus and Oblivion, but Sharah didn't know about that. It did seem as though Armand was one of those more sensitive individuals. Which meant there was no pretending away the powerful Daedric cowl in her boot.

"You have Nocturnal's Cowl," he stated, "That means you either stole it from the Gray Fox, or he gave it to you when he passed the mantle. And considering what happened while you were last in the city and what Methredhel had to say about you, I think it's the latter."

Armand wasn't angry or accusatory, just intense. Sharah stared him down for a moment while she thought. Then she reached down into her boot and pulled out the little scrap of gray cloth and tossed it on the table. The two of them looked at it, both knowing it for what it was.

Sharah finally said, "The last Gray Fox is retired and out of the game. For good. But…I don't want to be the Thieves Guildmaster. Whatever I've done for the guild, Fighters Guild is my priority. That's not changing now. I'm not going to stick with the Thieves Guild. So you need to find someone more qualified to give that Cowl to."

Armand sat back, still looking at the Cowl, "Do you know why the guild has Doyens?"

"You're the hands and eyes of the Gray Fox."

"That's what we tell people. But the fact is that the Doyens keep the guild in line. We're the guidance with the Gray Fox's authority. There have been times when the Gray Fox has led. Others when the Fox has just been a thief. Others when he just seems to disappear entirely. But the Doyens have always been there, wielding his authority when the Gray Fox is not around." Armand looked over at her, "The rule is, the Gray Fox is the owner of the Cowl, and the Gray Fox is the leader of the Thieves Guild. Whether he's here or not, stealing or not, doesn't matter."

He pointed at the Cowl, "I'm not taking that. It came to you and it's yours. You want to give it away, fine. But if you want my advice, I wouldn't. Nocturnal doesn't do anything without a reason. And given the background of that Cowl, if you reject her gift things aren't gonna go well for you or whoever you give it to."

Sharah looked uncertainly at the Cowl. She hadn't thought of that. Then again, Nocturnal had actually shown up in Sharah's house when she'd been considering what to do with the Cowl. And she'd certainly spoken as though she'd intended Sharah to come into possession of it. But would the Daedra be offended if she just gave it away? Offended enough to do something unseemly to Sharah and its new owner? Nocturnal's previous curse made her pause.

Sharah looked up at the doyen, "The Gray Fox probably won't be around very much for a while."

"We'll manage," he replied, unconcerned.

Sharah sighed and tucked Nocturnal's Cowl back into her boot. Well, she'd gotten her questions answered…if a little backwardly. The Gray Fox didn't have to actually run the Thieves Guild. Didn't even have to be present. He could be just a figurehead. Well…she. So, whether Sharah wanted to be or not, whether she was going to be regularly or not, the position was hers. She was the new Gray Fox.

That unsought honor now placed squarely on her shoulders, Sharah had other things to occupy her time. There was still that theft up in Bruma she needed to get to. And the Elder Scroll in her basement to return.

When Sharah came down the stairs, the finely dressed Dunmer fence bowed out of his conversation and came toward her. When he was near, he extended a hand, "Well met. I am Fathis Ules. And you are Sharah the Wolf?"

Sharah took the offering, "Yes…well met." Now she was wondering, how many other people could sense the Cowl.

Fathis straightened his coat, "I heard a rumor that you were the one to recover the Honorblade of Chorrol."

The Honorblade of Chorrol. She hadn't thought about that in ages. Although the Escutcheon of Chorrol Sharah had received for returning it was currently sitting in the basement of her shack, collecting dust just like back at the Chorrol Fighters Guildhall. "Yes, that was me."

"That was a brave thing you did. Ogres are such frightful creatures."

At this point, Sharah's interest in the conversation began to wane. She didn't know why a high ranked Thieves Guild fence was talking to her about a blade she'd stumbled on months ago. Besides, she had other things to occupy her mind. Like how to return the Elder Scroll to the White Gold Tower.

Fathis Ules said something about a job and the Honorblade. Sharah wasn't really paying attention and ultimately said 'no' to…whatever he'd been proposing. She just didn't have the time or will to go back to Chorrol. And, again, she had other things on her mind. The mer went away thoroughly annoyed and Sharah left the Thieves Guildhall to continue her planning.

The wise thing would be to leave the Elder Scroll in a guard tower or on the Tower's front step. But the thief in her took the return as a challenge. And thanks to the Cowl, she had some ideas about how to get back inside the Tower.

XXX

A week after the mysterious return of Count Corvus Umbranox, Emperor Uriel Septim entered his personal chamber to find the missing Elder Scroll sitting on his mantle. With it were a familiar family ring and a small bound note that read:

_There's a large hourglass in the palace basement that should probably be kept somewhere more secure._

The Elder Scroll was returned to its place in the library, the hourglass was moved into the royal treasury. And whenever anyone asked how the scroll had been recovered, the Emperor would adopt this secret smile and reply that he did not know the identity of whomever had returned the scroll.

Down on the Waterfront, someone with the same smile had to wash a layer of soot from her clothing. Again.

**I would call the Thieves Guild questline wrapped up. Hieronymus Lex will show up more in the Shadow of the Wolf story. Next chapter we'll see what's happening in Bruma. Remember to leave a comment below with your thoughts.**


	28. The Wolf Returns

**Wow, you guys are awesome! Already I have received 5 OC's, and each one is getting a home in this story. As a matter of fact, you'll see one of them in this chapter. I hope you like him as much as I do. And don't be afraid to double-dip. Moooooore, I need mooooooooooore 8Q.**

**I had so much fun writing this chapter. Hope you like it too.**

Divines and Daedra, it couldn't have just been a simple contract, could it? Some sacred stone, supposedly blessed by St Alessia had been stolen from the Bruma Chapel. But instead of being stolen by proper thieves, it had been stolen by some opportunistic bandits. So instead of doing a little bribe and answer session within the Thieves Guild to get it back, she'd had to pursue the amateur bastards into the wilderness.

And they hadn't gone south either. Nooooo, that would have been too easy. They went into the mountains. And got attacked by ogres. Who took the stone. And then went further into the range, finally holing up in the most complicated Ayleid ruin they could find. It had taken a full day to get through them. And once she had the stone, it got even better. Riding down from the frigid height, a starving mountain lion had attacked and dealt a mortal blow to her horse. Sharah was now certain that being her mount was a death sentence on any beast. She didn't know how she got down from there on her own. By all rights she should have frozen to death.

However it happened, Sharah got back to Bruma, but with a bad case of frostbite. Alderil saw to it that the stone was returned to the Chapel, a messenger-hawk was sent to Anvil informing Azzan that she would be recovering here, and actually going so far as to assign a new boot to take care of her. As if Sharah didn't already feel useless over not being there in Leyawiin. Now she was the guild invalid. If only her assigned caretaker wasn't so goodie-two-shoes about it. Gods, was this how she seemed to people. No wonder Methredhel had taken a dislike to her that first time.

"You don't have to hover, you know. I'm fine." That would have been more convincing if she could just stop shivering even though she was wrapped in four blankets and a fur in one of the warmest rooms on the lower level.

Lucius Aquailius, her boot nurse-maid, fidgeted where he was sitting, as aware of her bravado as she was. "Alderil told me to take care of you. It was an order."

Sharah grumbled, "Yeah, yeah, but you don't have to be so committed. It's not like I'm giving birth over here. I'm just cold. And you look like you're about to have a litter of kittens." But her beratement wasn't going to budge him. He had that new boot enthusiasm about him. And she certainly wasn't going anywhere. "So where are you from Lucius?"

"Daggerfall, ma'am. In High Rock."

Sharah tried not to snort at the 'ma'am'. It was just a new-boot thing. "I've never been there. Is it nice?"

He nodded, "I think so. My father is a merchant there."

"It would be the place to do it. So what brought you all the way to Bruma?"

Lucius shifted a little, "My father got word about the new trade happening between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. He…sent me to see if it would be profitable."

Sharah watched him, "But you joined the guild instead."

The man shifted around again, "I want to help people. And I don't really approve of how he does business. So…yes. I sent word back home, gave away what I had and joined your Fighters Guild."

"So you're not a fighter."

He hesitated, "Well…no…But I know how to use a sword. And this is what I want to do with my life."

Sharah softened her expression and nodded her approval. He'd done better than she had in regards to his folks. And it was good to have new members still joining up. And for the right reasons. Too bad he had to join up when everything was going downhill.

"What's your preferred weapon?" she asked, trying to get a feel for the man, and take her mind off the fact that she was bed-ridden.

"Longsword, ma'am."

Again with the 'ma'am'. "Draw it. Let's see what you got?"

Her keeper glanced around the bedroom she was stuck in, "In here?"

"Yes, in here. There's enough room, and I'm bored out of my mind. So draw your sword and show me some stances." Lucius did as he was told and started a simple sequence. "Tilt your shoulders more. And don't be afraid to put weight on that front foot. Add a side sweep. Now someone's coming at you from the right." Sharah nestled into her blankets and barked instruction as Lucius received his lesson. He wasn't used to the intensity of guild training, but he wasn't bad by any means. And as long as she couldn't go out and fight herself, she may as well do something with a point.

XXX

As Sharah recovered, Lucius's lessons moved to the actual training mats. Then she was actually able to draw a weapon against him which meant Alderil said he could stop shadowing her. Actually, she used him to get herself back into proper fighting shape. But the issue for now was that with her battle ready but without a contract, her thoughts turned to the state of the guild. How was Vilena handling everything? Was Blackwood on the move? What about contracts? Were there still enough to keep all the halls going?

The boot really surprised her there. He actually went out, utilized his merchant skills and some guildmates' connections, and brought a contract back to the guild. Alderil was impressed as well, and glad that his latest recruitment was panning out. At the dining table one evening, their guild head announced, "Thanks to Sassguard and our newest recruit, we have a contract. A delivery of Cyrodiilic brandy up to the border of Skyrim. So let's be clear: whatever is in those crates is not for guild use."

Bumph and Right-wind groaned overdramatically and tried to bargain the Altmer out of a few bottles, just for fun. It came to nothing though and Alderil continued, "Since the two of you have put so much into this, I think it only fitting that you handle the last leg of this contract. The client is expecting the delivery the day after tomorrow, so the both of you can—"

"Actually," Sassguard interrupted, "Maybe our guild Wolf should do it. Would be a good chance to get back into the field and what-not. I mean, if she's up for it."

Sharah couldn't tell if his tone was genuine or mocking. But Lucius didn't seem put off at all. In fact, he was positively glowing from the guild head's praise.

"Yeah, sure. I'll do it." Her answer was perhaps a bit less enthusiastic than it would have been before Leyawiin. But this was her guild. And she was absolutely willing to do her part. Sharah just wished she knew how the guild was going to hold up, not after one contract, but after twenty. The fact that she couldn't see that far ahead…left her uneasy. She wanted to help the guild as a whole. But she didn't know how besides just doing these contracts. If only Oreyn could give her some guidance. If only she had the courage to go back to Chorrol. And considering she still wrapped herself up in the mental walls, it was unlikely she'd go back very soon.

The second day that followed, Sharah was out bright and early to make the delivery. Lucius somehow arranged for her to rent a horse from the stables to pull the cart. And apparently at a very reasonable price. The boot was certainly enthusiastic about pulling his own weight.

Sharah led the big mountain horse northward with the crates of brandy jostling gently in the cart. These northern horses were bred for strength and to withstand the cold. Which mean it could pull the cart and bear her weight on its back at the same time. It made travel faster than if she had to walk beside.

Their rendezvous point was about a half day ride up the road near where the steep incline into the mountains began. She reached it in the late afternoon and looked around for the contact she was supposed to deliver the brandy to. Sure enough, there was someone waiting up the road. She waved to him, but received no return gesture. Sharah didn't take it personally and rode to meet him.

When Sharah got closer, the Nord rose from his seat by the road and two companions stepped into view. By all accounts this was her contact and his two guards. But something about it didn't feel right.

Sharah dismounted and addressed the Nord, "Are you Hjold?" That being the name of her contact.

He nodded and looked her over pointedly, "And you are?"

"Sharah. The Wolf. Fighters Guild." She flashed her guild patch at the last statement.

The Nord's eyebrows rose, "Really? Well isn't that a surprise."

That something about this situation was still making her uneasy. Sharah wanted to finish the task quickly and go back to Bruma, "I have your brandy shipment."

The Nord jerked his chin and she caught sight of three more burly Nords step out onto the road behind her. Hjold said to her, "We knew we'd get a Fighters Guild. Didn't know it be you, though. Lucky us."

Sharah shifted to the balls of her feet, "I'm glad I could make your day. But can we please finish this transaction? I need to get back to Bruma."

"You'll go back to Bruma after you've told us everything you now about your guild. Maybe. And if what I've heard is right that'll be quite a lot."

Sharah cocked an eyebrow and took a step forward and away from the horse, giving her room for what came next. "If you want to talk with anyone, it should be Alderil in the hall. I'm certain he would make time to see you." But this Nord was probably not referring to a casual conversation.

He grinned this repulsive toothy smile, "We wanted the one who would bring brandy out to the middle of nowhere. Since you're the one here, we'll take you." He jerked his head to those behind her, "Tie her up and let's get back to camp. I'm gonna make the Circle for this one."

Sharah stood quiet and let them come. When the first of them closed a hand around her arm, she whirled around and slammed her fist into his throat. The Nord staggered back, clutching his throat and choking out loud.

The rest of them paused, the act having caught them off guard. Then Hjold growled at her, "You're gonna pay for that. You and your guild."

They came in a rush of muscle. And Sharah turned into a ghost. She back-stepped between arms and legs, letting her assailants converge with a chorus of grunts. The first of the idiots was still coughing through his bruised esophagus, bent slightly in pain. Which placed his face at just the right level. She twirled on the spot and her heel went sailing through the air to connect painfully with his jaw and put him on the ground.

The muscle cluster had regained their balance and sense of direction, and the front pair lunged forward to grab her. She rushed between the hands of one and threw the crown of her head against his face. When he recoiled, she took a good grip on one wrist, twisted his arm and slammed her elbow down on his. The joint popped and bent in the opposite direction as it normally did while he screamed. She stepped back and turned to drive her fists into the gut of his buddy just as he rushed into it. Then she shoved two fingers into his nose and yanked him earthward. Ignoring the nasties on her fingers, Sharah leapt heels first onto his chest, knocking the rest of his wind loose and cracking a few ribs.

Sharah stepped away from her whimpering, writhing victims. Three down, three to go. The others drew their weapons. They weren't interested in capture anymore. She shared the sentiment and drew her poisoned dagger, "I think I'm going to kill the rest of you."

The three Nords spread out, treating her with more caution than before. Sharah's blood was up and there was a healthy feeling pressure in her chest. She wanted to see some blood.

They struck at her, advancing and retreating to cover the others in a practiced coordination that reminded her of a Fighters Guild trio. Sharah got fed up and threw a fireball at Hjold, then went for one of his buddies. The three-pointed-defense didn't work so well when one point was trying to douse his boots in the light snow drift by the road.

Sharah was going toe-to-toe with one when the other grabbed her from behind and lifted her away. She marked his forearm with her blade and then swung her feet up and back to catch him where it counted. He let go of her with a groan and she swept her dagger across his throat when he did, letting his life's blood stain the packed, icy earth. The shock of the crimson spray gave Sharah enough time to plant a fireball right in the chest of his comrade-in-arms. Maybe it was something about his armor, or just a particularly well conjured flame, but the Nord lit up like he'd been dipped in lamp oil.

Hjold had perhaps decided to cut his losses, as he had turned to flee. Sharah threw her dagger and caught him in the calf, putting him on the ground.

Sharah strode up, plucking her dagger out of his flesh and rolled him over with her foot. One arm was bent behind his back by the motion. Sharah knelt on his chest to keep it that way and pinned his other wrist beneath her foot. "Now that the pleasantries are out of the way, let's get down to business," she said, "You meant to ambush one of my guild. Bad luck for you it turned out to be me. Now I want to know why."

He spat at her. Sharah's lip curled off her teeth, then she drew back and struck him across the face. "Now that was just rude," she said, wiping it off. "Let me give you some incentive. You're dying right now. The dagger I put in your leg is poisoned. I've only sampled its initial affects. But considering I took it off an assassin, I'm guessing you're not going to die pleasantly. So why don't you answer a few of my questions and I'll make the end quick for you."

Hjold snarled at her, "I'll tell you nothing."

Sharah looked down at him. She could see the fire in his eyes. The sort of fire that you wanted to see in those fighting at your side. The sort of fire and dedication to a cause that gave people strength to the end. And the sort of fire that made them useless to the enemy. To get information out of a man like this, she would need a secure location, a good amount of time, and a professional interrogator. None of which were at her disposal.

She leaned back a little, "No…you probably won't. But you're not the only option." Sharah flipped her dagger over in her hand and punched it down through his armor, piercing his heart in one motion.

She stood up and looked at the remainder of her handiwork. Two dead men, and two live ones. It seemed the one she'd clocked in the throat and face had taken off. His escape hardly mattered. There were still two capable of talking. And one of them would. Because Hjold's choice of words was ringing in her mind. 'You and your guild'. They'd planned this ambush in order to extract information about her guild. And given the direction things had turned here, it was for the intent of doing them harm. Sharah bared her teeth as she stalked toward the two who were still moving. She wasn't going to let anyone near her guild. Not while she still drew breath.

XXX

By the time Sharah got back to Bruma she was fuming. More furious and enraged than she'd been since Maglir. Companions. Who in Oblivion were the Companions? And what did they want with her guild. She hadn't gotten much from those two thick skulled Nordic oxen. They'd been grunts at best, and she'd reaped the consequences when she questioned them. The two knew next to nothing about their group's plans. Only that they'd come down from Whiterun in Skyrim to help fight the Fighters Guild. Her Fighters Guild. It wasn't nearly enough information about this threat. Nor was the unusual pendant she'd taken off one of the bodies. Two of them had been wearing it, but the second had been melted beyond recognition. The one in her pocket hummed with enchantment, but she couldn't tell what kind. And that pressure in her chest had persisted and intensified the entire ride back.

Sharah burst through the Fighters Guildhall doors in the late evening. She sighted Lucius and charged across the room, seizing his collar when she came even with him. "Did you know about this?!"

The Imperial was completely unprepared and shocked by her ferocity, "Wh-what…?"

Alderil was nearby and was just as stunned by her behavior, "Sharah, what are you—?"

She threw a glare at him and cut him off, "Be silent, Alderil." Then turned back on the man under her hand, "Did. You. _Know_ about this?!" If he had betrayed her to those Companions. If he had set her up…

Lucius stuttered, "I-I don't know what you're talking about. Kn-know about what?"

She glared daggers down at him, reading everything, searching for some sign that he was hiding his guilt. But nothing. No desperately hidden recognition. Just honest confusion and no little amount of fear that his guildmate looked ready to kill him. Sharah growled and dropped him back into his seat and started pacing like a wild animal that found itself caged.

Alderil recovered and tried again, "Sharah, what is going on?"

She answered without stopping, "That damn contract was a setup. A trap. That rendezvous was an ambush."

The Altmer stared, "An ambush? But why?"

"To catch a Fighters Guild member. They wanted information to use against us. Against the guild. Some group called the Companions."

"The Companions. What about the Companions?" Bumph gro-Gash and another Nord member came over from the training mats.

Sharah halted, "You know them? How?"

Bumph answered, "They're a group of warriors based in Whiterun. They do what we do, but up north. What about them?"

Sharah growled again. "They ambushed me. Tried to capture me so they could extract information. They mean harm to our guild."

The guildhead pleaded for restraint. "We need to remain calm about this," Alderil insisted, "We've never had conflicts with the Companions before. We shouldn't go jumping to conclusions."

She turned on him, "They set an ambush for one of us, Alderil. Whatever we've had or not had in the past, there is a conflict now. And I have no intention of letting this pass without a response. They mean harm to this guild. They mean harm to us. And I'll not give them a chance to do worse than a botched ambush. Not to my guild."

Sharah continued stalking back and forth, unable to keep still, her mind racing. They had attacked her so that they could hurt her guild. The attempt was unforgivable. The intent was deserving of dogged vengeance. Her friends. Her comrades. Her family. The Companions would get no mercy from her for this.

Gods, her chest ached. She rubbed at it, never breaking her impulsive stride. Gods, it ached fiercely. Like something was trying to get out. Another growl issued forth. She could just see it. The wolf within her, railing, demanding release. Her mental walls not just serving to keep out the pain and grief, but also as a cage for her inner beast. A wolf, who'd gotten a taste of fresh air while ripping into those Companions on the road and was no longer content to remain docile.

Another growl, lower, more bestial. It vibrated deep, shaking the foundations of her mental defenses. Her guild. What had she been thinking? Walking around like…damn, like Vilena! Closed off, oblivious, barely useful. Numbed out and doing no good for anyone. Sharah had seen Vilena, seen the damage she did by locking herself away from the pain of her loss? How dare Sharah do the same?! Hadn't the guild suffered enough loss without Sharah turning tame and useless?

The wolf within her howled and slammed against the walls. In her mind, Sharah could see the mortar raining down and a high placed stone dislodge and topple downward.

She thought back to Biene Amelion. What had she told herself in that tomb: dead and buried played second to the alive and breathing. Every. Single. Time. What had she been thinking, acting the way she had?! The revelations kept coming, each dealing a blow to the wall from inside.

She'd been blocked off for long enough. She'd been scared passive for long enough. Her guild needed her. It needed the Wolf or these blasted Companions would do them harm. And the Blackwoods soon after. Sharah wouldn't let that happen. Not in an age.

All of this built up within her, feeling like a torrent in her bones. Sharah's ceaseless pacing was not enough. She quaked. She trembled. Her hands clenched. With one final blow the wolf broke free of its confinement and, with no more fitting outlet, Sharah threw back her head and howled.

The sound issued with the strength of her agony in the Forsaken Mine. The same rush of blood, the same throbbing in her ears. But this sound was one of absolute defiance from the very core of her being. She howled to warn the world of her strength. She howled for the sake of her pack. She howled believing the sound would carry far and wide, all the way to the mountains where someone would hear and recognize it as a warning, a challenge, and a threat. She howled like the Wolf she was and dared anyone to challenge her for it.

When her lungs had finally given their all, what remained of her rationality, which had chosen to go sit quietly in the corner at the beginning of this whole display, now calmly informed her that she had lost her mind. And, damn, did it feel good! She would never make that mistake again. Twice now she'd let her grief rule her. Sharah would not let it happen again. If ever she faced great grief again, she would not hide from it. She would instead honor the dead with service to the living. Which meant the Companions were the next order of business.

Sharah growled out loud, "This will not pass. Not with my guild." If they were going to threaten her guildmates, they'd learn a painful lesson for it. Even if she had to teach it to them herself.

Sharah looked up and saw the entire guildhall gathered and staring at her. And for good reason. Sharah couldn't imagine it was very often that a member went insane right in the guildhall. Although, looking from face to face…They were astonished, wary, worried, but some of them were…expectant? Yes. Sharah grinned. Perhaps she would not need to teach this lesson alone after all.

"Alderil," she barked.

The Altmer snapped to attention, "Yes, ma'am."

Sharah would have laughed out loud if that weren't exactly the response she'd been looking for. "Send word to Cheydinhal. Tell Burz gro-Khash we're gonna need his trio up here. I dealt a blow to the Companions' plan. It will make them wary. But it won't scare them off. And we're gonna need more manpower for what's coming."

"And what would that be?" Alderil asked.

Sharah grinned, "War, my friend. You think the Companions are going to stop with an ambush? What do you think they would have done next had they succeeded? Whatever their intent is, we're in their way. And considering we are two bands of warriors, I fully expect this to end in a fight. And when that happens, we're going to need more manpower. So send word to Burz and get Rienna and her men up here now."

Sassguard said quickly, "You can't just send the guild to war over this. You're the only one they ambushed. Maybe it was just about you. And you're just a Swordsman anyway. You're not in charge here. And why should any of us follow you after that…thing you just did?"

The Wolf stalked up to him until they were nose to nose, her intensity more than making up for her stature, "As I recall, you were the one to volunteer me for that contract." She let the words sink in, searching his face as she had Lucius's, looking for a tell. "And if you don't like it, you can leave. Skingrad lost its trio in Leyawiin. I'm sure they'd appreciate the extra manpower if you can't cut it here."

Sharah addressed the rest of those gathered, "These Companions have made one move against the Fighters Guild. They will make another. If not tomorrow, or next week, then it will be next month or next year. But they will come for us. For whatever reason, the Companions are against us. I've no intention of giving in to them. What I do intend to do is teach them that it is unwise to threaten the Fighters Guild. Because we are called Fighters for good reason. The question is: how many of you will fight now? How many of you will fight with me?"

Several fists snapped to their chests immediately: Alderil, Right-wind, and Bumph. Lucius was close behind. The gestures spread steadily until the whole of the guildhall held the salute. Sassguard as one of the last. His salute was hesitant, and he didn't meet her eyes.

Sharah's lip curled up, "Good. Lucius, those crates of brandy are down at the stables. If those Companions want to hand it to us, then that's just fine. Use those skills of yours and get as good a price as you can. We'll need the coin." She considered a moment, "Set a few bottles aside. We'll want something to celebrate with when this is over." Several members laughed.

"Bumph, you said you knew about the Companions. Try to find out more. Anything you can. As a matter of fact, that goes for everyone. The more we know about these Companions, the better. In the meantime, prepare as you see fit. There's a fight coming. And we need to be ready."

Sharah watched as her little army dispersed slowly, most for their beds. She needed to brief Alderil on exactly what had happened, then gather some information of her own. Ongar the World-Weary had mentioned there was more traffic from Skyrim. It might not have had anything to do with the Dark Brotherhood, but it was far more likely to have something to do with this.

And, of course, she needed to change. These common leathers weren't going to cut it. She may have avoided wearing her Wolf armor since Leyawiin, but she'd bet every Septim she had that it would still fit her like a glove. And strike a hell of a picture when those Companions finally came knocking on their door.

**Guest: your OC was a god-send. Exactly what I needed. I hope he turned out well and thank you so much.**

**Leave a review behind before you go, folks. And I'll see you next update.**


	29. Information Gathering in the North

**I'd like thank everyone who put in OC's. I've filled out the Fighters Guild ranks with them. I hope they turn out alright. And I did take account of the review notes on the Companions. The reason should be here for you folks. Let me know if it works for you. New OC's are always welcome. I'm actually looking for a few assassin beastfolk, if I could put out a specific request.**

**Thanks for holding with me on this tale. I know the long ones are hard to keep coming back to. And I really appreciate the faithful readers. Enjoy!**

It was good to be back in her armor. The Wolf armor's weight and feel just seemed right to her. And Sharah felt as though she filled it out in more than just the physical sense. She felt herself again, in mind and garb. Which meant Sharah recognized that she'd probably overreacted last night. Not that she'd been in a stable state of mind, but coming back and declaring war on some unknown group...most would not call it wise.

But it hadn't turned out badly on all counts. She wasn't the only one feeling more like their old selves. The Guild had become solemn since the death of Viranus. Anvil, Bruma, likely every guildhall had borne the weight of the news badly. But now, the hall seemed to have its old energy back. The energy she remembered from when she first joined the Guild. The Guild had endured tragedy as each of the Dontons fell and, like her, they didn't know how to assist beyond continuing to work as they had, even when the actions felt hollow. But now they had purpose, an enemy, something they could center themselves around.

But that didn't mean they were ready to fight. Sharah wasn't satisfied with what they knew about the Companions. She wanted more information before she started planning any offensive against them, no matter how motivated her guildmates were. So, while the call for Cheydinhal's trio went out, she intended to use the time until their arrival to gather intelligence and find out exactly what they were up against.

Ongar the World-Weary was the first that Sharah wanted to speak with. Sharah spent the following day working on the preparations for their coming conflict. The guildmates took to it well. But preparing for a contract was different than preparing for a full on battle. Plenty of them needed to upgrade their equipment. But as soon as she thought Ongar would be there, Sharah left for the Tap and Tack.

He wasn't the least surprised to see her. "Figured I'd be hearing from you. Words out about your run in."

She sat down, "Well, you're the one who pointed out all the activity down from Skyrim."

"So you figured that was it, too, huh?"

Sharah cut to the hilt of the matter, "What do you know about the Companions?"

The Nord sighed, "I'm the wrong one to ask. I'm a thief. And I'm past the age to bother keeping track of anything outside of Bruma." He took a swig of ale and put the tankard down again, "I do know there's an ex-Companion working at the lumber mill up east. Maybe he'd be better."

"You have a name?"

"Jarl the Bold." He snorted, "Can you believe what people will name their kids?" Sharah stood, eager to get to this ex-Companion. But Ongar had a bit more to say, "Hey, you remember that Nord woman I told you about?"

"...a little. Not the name though."

"Johanna."

"Right. You said she was meeting with some muscle from out of Skyrim."

Ongar nodded slowly and replied, "Well, she hasn't shown in a while.'

Sharah gazed unmoving into space. She couldn't help but be reminded of the Donton dilemma. She'd had all that information, pieces to the puzzle about why the Guild was floundering, but hadn't been able to make any sense of it all for a long while. It would be just the same now. She'd gather what she could, learn what she could, and eventually all these little bits of information would make sense. "Thanks, Ongar. I owe you a drink."

She rushed back to the guildhall. Bumph found her soon after she walked in. "I have a friend who came down from Skyrim recently," the Orc reported. "She lived up there for a long while. I was thinking about paying her a visit. See if she's got any recent information about the Companions. Since you're all about learning about them."

"Good call," Sharah replied. Recent information would be vital. "But don't go alone. No one does. It'll be too easy for the Companions to snatch someone from the Guild who's traveling alone." Sharah thought a moment, "Take Ansigar Ice-Hammer with you."

The Nord member was as deadly with a hammer as Bumph was. Sharah could just see the two formidable women swinging their metal masses about if anyone accosted them, and making the mountains quake as they did. And the Nord's limp was less of an issue over the shorter distance than it might be on a trip up to the lumber mill. Sharah had never asked how Ansigar came by the injury. But, then again, the woman had never offered the story up in conversation. Sharah got the impression it was a sore spot.

"Right-Wind!" The Argonian answered Sharah's call swiftly, "We're going up to the lumber mill to the north-east for some information. Pack up and I'll meet you at the door in ten minutes."

Sharah checked on Lucius's progress with the brandy, then went to find Alderil. The Altmer actually saluted her when she drew near. "I wanted to keep you aware," she said, "Bumph and Ansigar are going to visit someone just down from Skyrim. Try to get some recent info about the Companions. I'm taking Right-Wind to the lumber mill to the north-east. There's a former Companion there who might be willing to give us some detailed information about the group." He'd give them something or Sharah was going to shove his axe where the Magus never shone.

Alderil replied, "We'll continue our work here. The armorer said he can have most of our equipment done within the week. He wants half his payment now, but our funds will cover it and we'll have the coin from the brandy by the time he's done."

"Have you sent word to Chorrol about all this?"

The guildhead nodded a little hesitantly, "The same time I sent the message to Cheydinhal."

Sharah mused. There was no telling how Vilena would take this. She might send some furiously written order that they were to cease and desist, and that Sharah was officially expelled for trying to usurp authority. There was no telling how the Bruma guildhall would react to that, what they'd do, or how many of them would still fight with her. Because even if she was expelled, Sharah was still going to put herself between the Companions and the Guild.

But there was an equal likelihood that Vilena wouldn't react to the news at all. That she wouldn't pay it the slightest attention. That she might be sitting up in her office staring at the latest Guild report that bore the name of one of her sons on the casualties list. Sharah hated that the latter option was as likely as the former. Hated that there had been no changes to the Guild since Viranus' passing. Vilena should be doing something. Without Oreyn there, she was the one who had to…

Sharah refused to dwell on that. Vilena's lacking could not be addressed from here and could not be addressed now. If the message was an angry one, Sharah had a limited amount of time to get things done before it arrived. "I'll be back with Right-Wind as soon as possible. Keep things moving, make sure the members are training. In groups if possible. And…watch Sassguard."

"Sassguard?"

Sharah nodded, "It may be nothing. It may be something. Just…keep an eye on him. And if any guildmember leaves the hall, they must have a guildmate with them. No one goes anywhere alone."

"Yes, ma'am."

It was all Sharah could do. She had to trust her Guild. Sharah gathered a few things and met Right-Wind at the door. Then they headed out of Bruma. Lumber and mining were staples for Bruma. While Skingrad was known for its farming, and Anvil and Bravil thrived on water trade, Bruma had its riches in the natural resources of the Jerall Mountains. Plenty of workers were sent up to these locations. Sharah would make a point to ask this Jarl the Bold what landed him in the lumber mill, and if the ex-Companion part of his story had anything to do with it.

Sharah was so intent on deciding what questions she would ask that she didn't hear Right-Wind when he spoke.

"Hm? Sorry, Right-Wind. I was thinking. Speak again."

He cleared his throat, "I said no one blames you for what happened."

Sharah looked at him oddly, "What's that got to do with anything? The Companions ambushed me. Seems clear enough."

The Argonian shook his head, "No, I mean what happened to Viranus. I just wanted to tell you nobody blames you for it happening."

Sharah halted on the path, and looked back at him. "Why would they?"

"It's just…we all heard about Vilena dumping you a few ranks. And I wanted to say that we don't all think like that. We know it wasn't your fault or anything. I mean, Oreyn was the one who…"

Right-Wind trailed off when he saw the look on her face. She turned fully to face him, "What? What do they say about Oreyn? Go ahead. 'Oreyn was the one who' what?"

Right-Wind wisely chose to remain silent. A growl roiled up in her throat as Sharah said, "Oreyn is the best thing that ever happened to this Guild. If it wasn't for him, we'd all be out of work right now and the Guild would be a notation in a history book. We're all in a worse way without him. Vilena's an idiot for even considering expelling him, and twice that for actually doing it. And you can tell anyone I said so."

His silence was all that kept her from going off on him further. But they did keep quiet for the remainder of their travel.

Vilena. Why hadn't someone done something? Said something? Certainly she deserved some time to grieve. But after the first year after Vitellus, someone should have talked to her like Oreyn had to Sharah. Sure, a conversation like that with the Guildmaster might threaten one's standing in the Guild. But they couldn't keep functioning this way. They all knew it. So why was it allowed to continue?

And Oreyn…She wondered what he was doing now. Was he sitting alone in his run-down little house? Or was he perhaps still fighting the good fight, even from outside the Guild? He shouldn't have been expelled. Perhaps sent elsewhere, given a different rank or task, but not expelled. He'd only been doing what Vilena should have been. Sharah didn't know how they were going to get on without him.

The lumber mill was in full swing, literally. The whirling of axes could be seen between the trunks, and the water driven saw was humming in the main structure. Sharah and Right-Wind found the foreman and asked after their contact.

"Oh, you're looking for 'the lord'? Yeah, he's back chopping limbs." The Foreman walked them through the mill to a man splitting branches into firewood sized pieces.

Sharah thanked the foreman and the fighters approached the man they'd come to see. "Jarl the Bold?"

The Nord looked up, not having expected anyone to come seeking him, "Yes. That's me."

Sharah dipped her head, "I am Sharah the Wolf. This is Right-Wind. We're members of the Fighters Guild and we'd like to speak to you about the Companions."

Jarl lodged his axe into a log and whipped off his hands, "I haven't been a Companion for ten years. What would you want to know, anyway?"

"Everything you know about them," she replied, "Anything you can tell us would be helpful."

He handled his rag more slowly, "Why?"

Sharah kept her tone even, "We're having problems with the Companions. We're trying to understand why. You used to be a Companion. So, we'd like you to tell us what you know about them."

"What kind of problems?" Jarl persisted in his questioning.

Her eyes narrowed. Well it wasn't like they weren't going to come to this sooner or later. "The violent kind. They attacked me in order to get information about the Fighters Guild. They are threatening us."

Jarl shook his head and tossed the rag onto the ground, "No. Not the Companions. They're honorable. Every one of them."

Right-Wind asked, "So why did you leave?"

The Nord shifted on his feet, "There wasn't enough work to go around. It happens. So I came down here to make ends meet. But I'm telling you, you're wrong about the Companions. They wouldn't attack the Fighters Guild."

"They did attack the Fighters Guild. And we want to know why. So you need to tell us—"

He shook his head, "No. I'm not telling you anything. The Companions are honorable warriors, not some bunch of marauders. Whatever you think of them, you're wrong. Now I've got work to do."

Their informant was closing down on them. But they needed this information. When Jarl reached out to take his axe, Sharah strode up and leaned her weight on the handle. "Now listen here, Jarl. Whatever you remember the Companions being, they _have_ attacked us. They tried to kill me for no more reason than that I didn't let them tie me up and kidnap me. This happened two days ago. And none of your beliefs are going to change history."

"So you want me to rat out my old comrades so you can get back at them."

Sharah replied, "No. I'm asking you to tell me about them so we don't have to. If they are as honorable as you insist, there has to be a reason behind what they did. Perhaps they're being manipulated. Perhaps they misjudged something. I don't know." Her voice lowered, "But if you don't tell us anything, we'll have to assume the worst about them. We'll have to assume they mean to kill us. And that means every Companion that comes over the border is an enemy, and we will not hesitate to kill every single one of them." She softened her tone, "So, please. Just tell us about the Companions. If there's a way to avoid the bloodshed, I want to find it. But I can't unless you talk to me."

Jarl rubbed at his shoulders, thinking hard. Sharah knew what it felt like. It felt like he was betraying his old comrades. But things were as she'd told him. If she knew nothing more about the Companions, then killing them was the only option.

It took a few moments before he began speaking, "The Companions are supposed to carry on the tradition of the Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor who first took Skyrim back from the elves. They are based in Whiterun, in the mead hall Jorrvaskr. Most think of the Companions as just mercenaries, but we're…they're more than that. A…family of comrades."

Sharah nodded, "I know the feeling."

He continued, "The Companions do for people what they can't do for themselves. They are strength for the weak, and protection for the innocent."

She was afraid he might go off rambling, "Who are their leaders? Who's in charge of them?"

"The Circle. They're a group of skilled and respected warriors. They manage the Companions."

Right-Wind put in, "What about a Guildmaster?"

Jarl replied, "There isn't one. The closest thing is the Harbinger. He's not a Guildmaster so much as a highly respected advisor. That was Bein Firestone when I left."

Sharah considered, "So if I could speak with this Harbinger, perhaps he could call off his men?"

"If you can convince him, the rest of the Companions would follow. But I don't see how any of them would attack without cause. They wouldn't."

She tried to ease him, "We'll do what we can. None of us want unneeded bloodshed. One last thing." She reached into her pocket and drew out the pendant she'd taken from one of the Companions, "Do you know what this is? Two of the Companions I…met, were wearing it."

Jarl took the necklace, "I haven't seen one of these in ages. It's a pendant of Hrothgar. It's given to those Companions who have shown dedication in their service."

Wonderful, so she'd been attacked by and killed two of the distinguished members. Sharah took the necklace back, "Thank you, Jarl. I will attempt to resolve this quickly."

The Nord didn't have much of a reaction as she and Right-Wind left the mill. As soon as they got back to Bruma she was going to write a letter to the Companions' Harbinger informing him of his people's actions and warning him that if he did not take steps to stop them, then the Fighters Guild was going to defend themselves as necessary. She hoped he was just unaware of his men's actions. Because if he or his Circle were the ones who sent them…things were going to get difficult.

A bolt shot out of the tree line and cracked into the road right in front of her. Sharah and Right-Wind drew their blades and rushed behind the trees closest to them. A second and third arrow zipped through the air, sailing past or embedding into their defenses.

Right-Wind hunched his shoulders within the confines of his tree, "Companions?"

"Who else?" Sharah asked, glancing cautiously around the edge of the tree. Two figures were already dashing off into the forest. Sharah conjured a fireball and fired it at the retreating forms. There was a yelp of surprise, but she missed her mark. "Come on. We need to get back to Bruma and make sure Bumph and Ansigar didn't get the same."

Sharah and Right-Wind hurried back to the city double time. The ambush could have been some bunch of bandits. But she wasn't going to trust in coincidences just now.

The moment they entered the guildhall, Sharah demanded of the first guildmember she saw, "Have Bumph and Ansigar returned yet?"

Jacquelyn lortesque kept her attitude in check for once, "Yeah. Like an hour ago." The Breton was clearly bitterer than usual now that she was required to train in groups, but knew it was not the time to bring it up.

Lucius came running up before Sharah could go question Bumph, "Wolf, I finished selling the brandy. Here's the coin."

Sharah looked intently at him, "You were out alone about it?"

He seemed offended, "I can manage a trade without help."

"It's not about needing help. It's about safety in numbers. Alderil should have covered that. No one in the Guild goes anywhere alone. Not even if it's in town," she added before he could argue about stone walls. "I don't trust the Companions not to pull something within the city." Sharah looked over at the Breton polishing her war-axe, "I'm partnering you with Jacquelyn. You two stay together at all times. I don't care what you're doing."

Jacquelyn overheard and got a look as though she were about to let loose a stream of unhappy arguments, but Sharah quickly cut those off as well, "I don't care about your solo-act. You stay with Lucius from now on. Get that coin to Alderil. He's still handling the weapon and armor upgrades for the Guild. When that's done, take this pendant next door to the Mages Guild. I want to know exactly what kind of enchantment is on it. And stay together, no matter what."

Jacquelyn grumbled as she sheathed her war-axe and snatched the pendant of Hrothgar that Sharah offered. The Breton barked at Lucius and he dashed after her so they could find Alderil. Sharah dismissed Right-Wind and went to find Bumph who had separated from her companion now that they were back in the guildhall.

"Bumph, what did you learn from your friend?"

Bumph gro-Khash's friend shed a little more light on the situation. The Companions had been the traditionally chosen mercenary group of Skyrim, and in the last few years their number and popularity had grown. Sharah wasn't quite sure how that tied in with her Guild. The Fighters Guild didn't function in Skyrim. So why were the Companions attacking them?

Sharah met with Alderil immediately, composing a letter to send to Whiterun that reflected the Altmer's natural formality. It began with informing their Harbinger that there were Companions attacking the Fighters Guild in Bruma. Sharah didn't want to simply assume that the Harbinger had arranged the assault. But it also included a warning that if the Companions continued, then the Fighters Guild would retaliate. The open ended threat would doubtless catch attention. Sharah only hoped she wasn't digging the Guild even further into the fight.

Sharah had Alderil make copies of the letter to be sent over and over again. If the attacks were not by the order of their Harbinger then the local Companions would make an effort to keep their activities secret from their respected elder. But all the Guild needed was for one of them to get through. Again, this was if the Harbinger was unaware of his people. If he was, then this conflict was going to get a lot worse.

XXX

The next few days stretched. Weapon and armor upgrades for every guildmember were almost complete. They continued training, separating into pairs for just about everything after Sharah's order that no one ever go out alone finally circled around. The Mages Guild finally got back to her about the pendant of Hrothgar. It was enchanted to increase one's strength and endurance. But the enchantment had not been done by a master of the art so it came with a weakness: a susceptibility to magicka. Which would explain why that one Companion had burst into flame when she'd fireballed him. It hadn't been her flame that caught, but the magicka she'd used. That was something to keep in mind.

But everything had hit a plateau. The next step in their preparations was to locate the Companions. Either to set up some kind of meet to sort the whole thing out, or to attack and be rid of the threat. But the Companions were from Skyrim, they thrived in the cold and ice. And there was a lot of mountain and wilderness in which they could hide. And the only clue there was the location of her ambush near the border. She wasn't going to start sending scouting teams until the Cheydinhal trio showed up. And every time a courier went north, Sharah sent a letter to Whiterun.

She prayed their Harbinger would intervene. Not because she was afraid her Guild couldn't defeat the Companions. But because she knew that they were capable, and that she was willing. So the only hope for this fight to end before it started was for that Harbinger to put his foot down.

Then there came a development she hadn't expected. Alderil brought it to Sharah while she was circling a map of Tamriel. Literally. Sharah had it on a low table and was pacing slowly around it like her beast seeking a place to strike, staring at the landscape intently, trying to divine where her enemy was hiding so she could get at them. Alderil cleared his throat and Sharah jerked up. Her guildmates had stopped jumping when she centered her wolfish looks on them so suddenly. He held out a folded message to her. Sharah took it, hoping it was a message back from that Harbinger, for good or bad, and fearing it might be from Chorrol. When she scanned the contents, Sharah stopped dead:

_I have information on the Companions, their intent towards the Fighters Guild and the location of their base camp. I will discuss these things only with Sharah the Wolf, and only if she comes to the marked location alone._

There was a map drawn below with a few recognizable landmarks. The meeting place was out in the middle of nowhere.

Alderil gave her a moment as she considered the message. "It's a trap," he finally said, "They drew you out before. And they knew you were going to the mill to speak with Jarl the Bold. This is probably them trying to draw you out again. They've had enough time to prepare."

Sharah nodded, having considered that as well. "You starting to think this really might just be about me?" So far, the only attacks had happened to Sharah and whomever had been with her.

The Altmer shook his head, "No. I agree with your assumptions. But clearly they know you are the greatest threat. That you lead here. They must know you're looking for information on them, so they mean to bait you with it." Sharah nodded slowly, still staring at the note. "You can't be considering going."

Sharah carefully folded the message, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Wolf. But—"

"My instincts have never steered me wrong. They kept me well against the assassins. They warned me before the ambush was sprung…And they are telling me that this is legitimate."

"Wolf, you mustn't. If we lose you—"

"I will not make Vilena's mistakes! I will not hole up in a hall and wait for the end to come. The location of their base camp is all that is keeping us in the guildhall. All that keeps us from striking at the enemy. Oreyn and I took a risk with Blackheart and it panned out. And I believe this will as well."

The Altmer did not look pleased, but he would not try to stop her. Likely because he knew he couldn't. "At least take someone with you."

She shook her head, "No. If this one wants to meet alone, then I'll show up alone." Before he could object, Sharah said, "I will not spook this informant. Showing up as requested is a show of good faith. It will go further than anything else. And we need this one to talk. And if something does happen to me, then someone else will just have to step up."

It was time the Guild stopped waiting around for someone to do something. They'd waited for Vilena, they'd waited for Viranus. Just because Sharah had been the first to get fed up with waiting didn't mean that everyone else was off the hook. If things were going to get done, everyone was going to have to pull their own weight. Especially if their leaders were dead or useless.

XXX

The meeting location was even more out of the way than Sharah had expected. Out in the forest, out of sight of road or settlement. Sharah knew she was alone. And found it a bit odd that the legitimate meeting had turned into an ambush, but she trusted what appeared to be an ambush to be peaceful and informative. Actually, that bordered on mad. But she'd already crossed that bridge, hadn't she?

Sharah pressed through the forest until she came to a distinctive rock formation. She didn't have to check the drawn map to know that this was where they were to meet. What other rock looked like a dragon's claw? Besides, Sharah had used this formation once before when she sought the hidden Akaviri fort within Pale Pass.

Sharah stopped before the claw shaped stone and rotated on the spot, seeking her informant. Perhaps she was early, perhaps the person had gotten anxious and left already…or perhaps she might be the one with the bow that was creeping up over the height of the dragon's claw. The fighter didn't move. Didn't appear startled, and didn't reach for her weapon. Just kept her attention on the fair skinned Nord woman who clearly wasn't taking any chances with this meet. And still, Sharah did not assume this was an ambush. Yes, she was most certainly mad.

The woman's eyes darted around the treeline, then back to the fighter, "Did you come alone?"

Sharah nodded, "I did. Sharah the Wolf. As you asked. Now if you're going to shoot me, do it. Otherwise, let's talk." The Nord hesitated, looked again around the treeline, then gradually relaxed the string of her bow. But she didn't come down from the top of the rock. Sharah continued, "You said you knew where the Companions were camped and what they were planning against my Guild. Are you still willing to share that information with me?"

The informant glanced once more at the trees, then back at Sharah, "Why did you come alone?"

"Because you asked me to."

The Nord was still confused, "This could have been an ambush."

Sharah nodded slowly, "That's what my guildmate believed. But I trusted my instincts that this offer was genuine. Was I wrong to?"

"No…" It seemed she truly didn't understand what had inspired Sharah to believe the message, even if it had apparently been truthful. The Nord had been suspicious and expected suspicion in return. Sharah's trust was unexpected. "My name is Johanna. I was a Companion until recently. But I…I don't believe what Hafnir is doing is right. I'll tell you everything I can for you to help your Guild."

"Johanna? You were the one meeting with folk in Bruma. Is your desertion why you haven't been there lately?"

Johanna started, "How did you know about that?"

Sharah replied, "You were noticed. But let's get to why we're here. What are the Companions doing in Cyrodiil? They ambushed me to get information about my Guild. Why?"

Johanna settled onto the rock, gathering her thoughts. "It's not the Companions. At least, not all of them. It's Hafnir Iron-Blood. He's a member of the Circle, one of the leading members of the Companions. He's the one leading this…advancement."

"What advance?"

"He wants to put Bruma under the Companions influence."

"Why? I thought the Companions only operated in Skyrim."

Johanna replied, "He thinks it will earn him the Harbinger's favor. Oh, our Harbinger is—"

"Bein Firestone, your Circle's honored advisor."

The Nord was surprised Sharah was aware but continued, "Yes. He is getting on in years. Soon he'll have to name a new Harbinger. Hafnir thinks this will earn him the position."

Sharah inquired, "Does your Harbinger know about it?"

"I don't think so. It's why I left, because…I know the Harbinger would never agree with what Hafnir is doing."

The way she said it, Sharah could only assume the intent was turning dangerous. "And what is that?"

Johanna replied slowly, "Hafnir put me in charge of observing the Fighters Guild. I thought it was just to learn what made you so successful. But he seemed more interested in how the death of Vitellus Donton was affecting your Guild. I didn't figure it out at first. But I did when Viranus Donton passed, and Hafnir started assembling Companions just north of the border…without telling the Circle." The Nord looked Sharah in the eye, "He plans to force the Fighters Guild out of Bruma and build another mead hall for the Companions. He already knows all about your Bruma hall. All your members, your methods, your strengths and weaknesses. I was in charge of sending Companions to infiltrate the city and your guild, and get the information back to Hafnir. He's probably found someone else since I left."

Sharah's eyes narrowed, and demanded, "I want to know exactly where this camp is. And I want to know the names of every one you sent into my Guild." Her inner wolf's hackles rose. She was not going to like what she heard next.

**Uh-oh...what's coming next? You'll find out on the next update. Please leave a review before you leave.**


	30. The Companions' Assault

**Gah! *tosses self before her faithful readership* Forgive me for not updating. I did a terrible thing. I installed another video game! Oh, the agony! But I'm back, I'm writing, and I won't let myself get sucked into a second obsession before I finish here. I shall not abandon you again! Thanks for sticking around.**

**Alright, now back into the fray. Let's hope the chapter is worth the wait.**

Sharah saw the Cheydinhal trio arriving as she raced up the road at the Bruma front gates: Rienna and her men, Elidor and Brag gro-Bharg. Sharah didn't give them a chance to hail her, but kept up her dead run toward the gate, shouting as she drew near, "Took your sweet time, did you? With me. Now!"

Even though they must have been tired from their journey, the three of them fell in behind her swiftly. Sharah couldn't afford to give them the moment's greeting and rest. She'd been too late too many times. There was no telling what could have happened with Companions in their hall. And there was no way she was going to be too late now.

When the four of them came within sight of the guildhall's front door, someone darted inside. Sharah put on an extra burst of speed. She would not be too late this time! Her shoulder slammed into one door and the thing popped open before it could be sealed. Sharah fell upon the strange Nord who'd been trying to block it up. She roared and plunged Umbra into his chest just as the intruder's hand went for his blade.

The trio was at her back in an instant, struck dumb by the swift, unwavering kill and then by the battling that they all now saw within. Sharah yelled, "Companions have infiltrated the guild. Defend our guildmates." The trio shed their travel packs to better access their weapons, which leapt from belts and sheathes as the four of them dove into the fray.

The Fighters Guildhall had gone mad. Right-Wind and Bumph were facing off against a pair of Nords and holding their own by the nearly split dining table while avoiding an archer. The training mat was splattered with blood where Jacquelyn swung a bloody war-axe over the fallen body of Lucius, paying back double for her partner's death. There were sounds of combat on the floors above and below. Sharah snarled to see that four of their comrades had turned traitor, fighting the very guildmates they had lived and worked beside for months. Now they stood with more strangers in Skyrim warrior garb.

Sharah fell upon them, cleaving the gut of the one with a bow. Elidor and Brag raced to assist Jacquelyn on the mats while Rienna drew her bow against the offenders that attacked Bumph and Right-Wind. The battle intensified, but the reinforcements from Cheydinhal turned the tide. Ansigar and Alderil drove attackers from the lower level. And when Brag turned his back on one he thought was a guildmate, Sharah ignited the back-stabber before he could strike the orc down.

Soon the fighting was spilling out onto the street. Citizens scattered as Companions and Fighters clashed in fevered combat with nothing but death of all or the other as an adequate conclusion. Umbra ate well of the souls Sharah felled, reveling as she did in the bloodshed. But there was one in particular that she had her eyes out for. The bastard Sassguard was either still inside or he'd taken off.

The Bruma guard formed up fast. What else could be expected when there was combat happening in public? Brag hammer-bashed one of his opponents, outmatching the Nord with Orcish strength, sending the Companion spinning to see a line of soldiers on their stone level. He lifted his weapon in preparation, fairly declaring himself their enemy and inviting them to attack him. Something Sharah's Wolf declared unacceptable, feeling possessive of her enemy.

"Stay off him!" she roared, barreling down the walk at the stray combatant. He turned back to the one he had been sent to fight, which suited the Wolf just fine.

She met his blade with hers viciously, driving him back the three feet to where she wanted him. Then Sharah drove Umbra's point between the cobbles, put all her weight against the hilt and hoisted herself into the air to strike the bastard in the face with her knee and with all her strength. He wrenched to the side, staggering until his foot sought solid earth where the first stone step descended. Already off balance, he toppled, plummeting down the steep stair that bridged the city's levels. Sharah watched it grim satisfaction as she saw him summersault and hit the stone just right to snap his neck. She didn't even have to hear the crack. The Companion ragdolled the remaining distance and stopped limply on the level below.

As Sharah looked down at her victim, she noticed that there was very little noise now. A look along her level revealed the slightly dumbfounded line of Bruma City guards. In the other direction, her guildmates stood amidst the bodies of their enemies, leaning on their weapons and gasping for breath. Was it over? Had they gotten them all? Had they missed any?

Lieutenant Gerich Senarel muscled his way through the soldiers and came to a dead stop when he saw the bloody debris of battle before him. "What's happened here?"

Sharah took a single deep breath before replying, "Companions attacked the Fighters Guild. We dealt with them."

"Companions? The Skyrim mercenaries. What were they doing down here?"

She raised a dangerous eyebrow at him, "Attacking us. I thought I just said that."

She looked back down the stairway and realized her enemy had fallen at the feet of a civilian. Some Khajiit noble or other, if she remembered right. He had that noble bearing that went right along with his regal looking mane. But he moved like a fighter though, like he could kill with his bare claws. A hands-on sort that you didn't normally see in those of noble blood. He nudged the Companion's head, which lolled unnaturally on the snapped spine, as though he dealt with the dead regularly. Sharah couldn't help but respect the Khajiit nobleman for that. So when he looked up at her, she gave him a slight nod, recognizing his composure in this situation that had already sent most fleeing.

Sharah heard the guildhall door slam as it flew open. "Wolf?!"

She looked to Alderil, "Here."

He was relieved to see her and all the others still standing. The reaction told her enough of how things stood inside. "Did any escape?" he asked.

Sharah looked down at her last kill, "No. We got them all. Inside?"

Alderil nodded, "And we have two captures. Of a sort. Sassguard and Jarik."

Her head jerked up and her expression twisted, "Hold them. They're mine."

The Lieutenant interjected, "Now hang on. If there are...We'll take them into custody."

The growl rose too easily in her throat. "This is Guild business. They came for us." She yanked Umbra out of the walkway, "Besides, I have a quota to meet. You will not interfere." Sharah wasn't nearly satisfied with the number of Companions felled. Not unless both Sassguard and Hafnir Iron-Blood were on that list. Until then, she wasn't done with them. Sharah strode toward the hall, her guildmates parting as she passed and closing ranks behind her.

When she vanished from sight, the Khajiit didn't linger but slipped down the street as swift as a phantom before the soldiers could go about questioning witnesses.

Inside, the smell of death and battle was still strong. Blood detailed the walls and floors, most concentrated about the fallen bodies of their enemies…and friends. Several of her guildmates were gathering their dead or nursing their wounds or the wounds of others. Three of them stood grim and unmoving, guarding the two Companions that remained. The bastards still wore their guild patches, like turning on those they'd stood and lived beside for years was something to be proud of.

Sassguard was bloodied and bound. The guild members guarding him had weapons drawn and gripped his arms hard, their grim expressions set like hardened mortar. The smaller Nord, Jarik, was in far better condition with free use of his limbs, but the Guild still watched him warily. Seeing the disaster of the treachery spread before her, it was all Sharah could do not to drive Umbra into Sassguard's chest at first sight. She had to rein in the impulse like a runaway team of horses. The northern sort. Friends first…friends first…

"How many did we lose?" she asked, forcing herself to look away from the yet breathing enemy, only to see the sheet that had been cast upon Lucius's fallen form.

Alderil replied, "Two. Lucius Aquailius and Bumph gra-Gash."

Sharah flinched and felt Umbra start begging in its sheath. Right-Wind was leaning against the wall with his head bowed, psychologically unable to tend to the body of his frequent companion and friend.

She compelled her mouth to form the words, "And the wounded?"

"Nothing fatal or life threatening," he said, accounting what he'd seen outside with what was happening in here.

She breathed, trying not to let the smell of blood wet her unsatisfied appetite to spill the stuff, "Send someone to the temple to bring back a healer. And…we need to see to our dead." When Sharah had a hold of her blood-lust, she turned toward the captures, "And then there's them."

Alderil used the walk over to put in his two septims, "They're the only ones left alive. Sassguard led the attack. But Jarik says he's with us, even though he wears one of those pendants."

She set her eyes on the Nord, "Why should I believe such a claim?"

Jarik went to a knee, "I admit, I was sent here to infiltrate your guild. But I know my loyalties aren't with the Companions anymore. I swear it."

"Swear?" Sharah scoffed through her teeth, "We believed your oath once before, and look where that got us. You'll have to do more than that to convince us this time."

Ansigar Ice-Hammer stepped forward and stood at attention, "If I may, ma'am, he has. Below, when the attack began, he helped me defend against the attackers instead of attacking with them. He didn't fight with the Companions here. He fought with the Guild."

The woman's declaration seemed honest enough, if surprising. Sharah looked back down at Jarik, "Is this true?"

He didn't meet her eyes. Only answering with a hesitant nod.

"Traitor!" Sassguard spat. One of his guards struck him and he fell silent.

Sharah ignored the outburst. She'd deal with him soon enough. To the one on his knees, she said, "As nice as it would be to believe, I can't help but notice that you've been traitor to both sides now. Do I believe your latest oath, or your history?"

She expected Ansigar to make her next argument. Or Alderil to speak his observations. Or Jarik to plead his case. Not a word. They just waited, and left the choice up to her…up to her… Why did they trust her so much? Why did this thing have to fall to her?

Sharah directed her sight to the rafters, trying to get some clarity of thought. Leaving an enemy alive among them was just asking for trouble. And her bloodlust was still strong in her veins. She wanted to rip a few more Companion throats out for killing her guildmates, for bringing more death and loss into her life. And there just so happened to be a pair of Companion necks right here. Instinct that normally told her who to trust and who to kill was now drowned out by the instinct howling that an eye be paid for an eye. She growled.

Sharah wanted to kill them. Make the frozen earth run red with blood. She wanted to hear them scream in agony such that the trees shook and shed the snow from their limbs. She wanted to rake their skin open with her finger-nails and sink her teeth into their flesh…What in Oblivion was happening to her? She was going mental, vengeful, murderous, psychotic. Couldn't anyone see that? They had to. It had been building within her since that ambush. Why did they continue looking to her?

Gods, it was like Umbra. Only this was her own soul. How did one fight their own soul? She needed time alone, away from people. She needed to get control of herself. It wasn't safe for her to be making decisions like this. Not until she had her head on right. Putting anyone's fate in her hands right now…was not wise.

The Wolf looked toward Ansigar. The Ice-Hammer had this aspect to how she looked at the Wolf. Like she were seeing something familiar that made her uneasy. Did she see the Wolf coming out? Did she see the danger? _Say something. If you see it then, Divines help you, say something. Make a comment. Relieve me of command here. _But the Ice-Hammer didn't. Nor did Alderil. They just waited, like all the rest, for Sharah to make her decision.

Sharah breathed through the blood-lust, forcing it down…a little. Then said to Ice-Hammer, "You trust him? You vouch for him? Then I'm leaving him to you. Dead or alive, I don't care. But if he stays, he's never out of your sight. Understood?"

That concerned, suspicious aspect vanished and Ansigar saluted. Sharah almost demanded that someone open their eyes and tell her she was unfit. But at least his life or death wasn't up to Sharah just now. She couldn't trust herself to make a reasonable decision when she was actually thinking about using her teeth against her enemies.

"And get that pendant off!"

Jarik just about tore through his armor to yank free the necklace like it was going to burrow into his skin.

"Alderil…deal with Sassguard. I can't…Just deal with him. I need some air."

Sassguard laughed, "Coward bitch!" Sharah halted even as she had already turned for the door. He shouted at the Fighters Guild, "She's nothing but a coward bitch. Look at her. Running like a scared whelp. You follow a coward! Once the Circle learns what happened here, they're going to send every Companion they have down to avenge us. This doesn't change anything. You think she's saved you? She hasn't! It'll be a massacre. But there's still time. Still time for you all to join the winning team. The Fighters Guild is rotting, dying. But the Companions are strong. You'll all see that. And they'll take the strong if they're willing." He shot a glare at Jarik, "But not traitors." He cast a second at Sharah, "And not cowards."

Sharah breathed haltingly and Sassguard assumed he'd gotten under her skin. "They're gonna come for you now. All of them. They're gonna come down here and kill you, you mongrel coward bitch! You don't know how long I've wanted to say that. All that talk and ordering and flaunting your name around. You're as good as dead you pathetic, worthless, coward—"

The blade was scarcely a shadow it moved so fast, clearing the guildmember guards by scant inches while still passing straight through Sassguard's neck. He remained upright for a few impossibly long seconds. Then the body slumped forward and his head rolled off the neck and across the floor, swiftly followed by a pooling of crimson that fed Sharah's vicious side. She stood there shaking with rage, breathing in ragged gasps as she struggled to contain herself. Now she really needed that air. Sharah went for the doors without another word, avoiding looking at anyone.

Outside, she took another breath. Tried to settle her bloody intent. But the death outside flooded her nose. More air. She needed more air. Sharah didn't bother with how it looked. She leapt up the side of the guildhall, grasping the roof's edge and hauling herself atop the shingles. She'd scaled a sheer, stone wall several hundred feet high to get into the Imperial Prison once. She could certainly climb to the apex of the guildhall's roof.

High up was good. Very good. Where the air carried straight down from the icy mountaintops and she could see the entire wilderness spread out over the city walls. The frosty air rushed through her nose and straight down into her lungs, so cold it almost burned. Burned away the death and the blood that had settled there. The roof was high and steep enough that she couldn't even see the battle scene in her peripheral vision. And the relative distance she had from what was happening below helped as well.

She'd gone too far with Sassguard. What was wrong with her? She wanted to believe that this was Umbra's hunger finally taking hold, but the blade's soul had been as eager and docile as a puppy since she'd made her peace with it in Hackdirt. This was all her. And all she could think about was that she hadn't killed enough. She hadn't taken enough lives to satisfy her. She needed to sever more mortal coils, spill more blood. It didn't feel like it was about the Guild anymore, just about her own blood-lust. And it wasn't right. With folk looking to her, she couldn't be thinking like this. But she couldn't help it. Couldn't make it stop. How did she make it stop?

The Magus drifted across the sky, shadows shifted and arced as time passed around her. Then Sharah's peripheral vision caught Alderil craning his head out of his office's second floor window in an effort to get sight of her. "Wolf," he said when he finally spotted her up on the roof's peak.

"What is it?" she demanded, not taking her eyes from the expanse of the world.

"The Countess wants to speak to you."

Sharah grumbled in the back of her throat. Her head was still reeling with rage and sharp edges. Now was not the time to expect polite conversation from her. "You see to it, Alderil. I can't do it now."

Alderil replied, "She has summoned you. You can't deny a summons."

Damn. Had the woman known Sharah would be rigid after a fight, and so she hadn't made it a request? Probably. Sharah breathed deeply for a bit longer, then shifted her weight and slid down the roof. Alderil withdrew inside just in time for Sharah to grab the window frame and swing herself into the room. "Fine," she said, settling her cuirass into place, "But you're coming with me."

"She summoned you specifically—"

Sharah bared her teeth, "Alderil, I am in no state to be dealing with gentry. You can't tell me you're not fully aware of that. Especially after what happened downstairs. You're coming and you're doing the talking. Or I'm liable to do something detrimental to the Guild."

The Altmer didn't really agree so much as not argue. And Sharah didn't know whether it was wise or cowardly. Then again, she really had no idea how she seemed to people just now. When had she gotten so dangerous and intense? Actually…she was reminded a bit of her and Oreyn before Azani Blackheart, when he'd recognized his inability and passed the lead to her. So some of his lessons were sticking with her. Good to know. There were worse people to emulate than the former guild second. That was if she ever managed to get a hold of herself.

Alderil followed her downstairs. The Companion dead had been moved outside while the two fallen Fighters Guild members had been covered and moved to lay together on the practice mats. There were two temple healers working on her comrades. Cirroc, the one she'd talked to about the Stone of St. Alessia, actually recognized her with a small bow as she headed out the door. Another civilian blind to there being a real Wolf walking in Sharah's boots. Narina's herald, Tolgan, was waiting just inside the door, choosing inside with the blood instead of outside by the Companion bodies. He gave a bow and led the way up to the castle.

Maybe she should snap at someone. Literally. Teeth and all. Show them what a mistake they were making holding her in such high esteem. Damn it all!

Part way to the castle, Alderil finally spoke, "Perhaps we could convince the Countess to help us. I don't doubt that our hall can stand against another attack. But if the Bruma Guard were watching for them, it would make things—"

"We're not asking the Countess for help."

The Altmer hesitated before saying, "You can't expect our guildhall to stand against the Companions. We have already lost members from this. Perhaps it is time to seek outside help."

"The guard will do what they do anyway: defend against those who will attack the city's citizens. They'll watch for Companions now without our request. And the Companions' camp is too far away to expect them to do anything more than that."

He paused, "You know where they are camped?"

Sharah glanced over. Right, she hadn't had a chance to tell him, "Yes. And…other things." She shook herself, "And none of it need involve the Countess or the guard. Certainly not outside the city walls. The Companions will be dealt with one way or another, but not with Bruma's involvement. I hope you make that clear once we're inside." Her tone of voice told him there would be no argument.

This was going to be a simple visit. They'd reassure the Countess all was fine, apologize for the disturbances in town, and leave with a promise that it would not happen again…if they could help it. Alderil would do the talking and Sharah would keep her lips firmly wrapped over her teeth. He was the ranking officer anyway. Certainly the Countess should have summoned him about the fight in town, not her.

Sharah and Alderil were announced and permitted entry into Countess Narina's audience chamber. Sharah attempted to act subordinate, but her whole posture had changed since she'd taken to her Wolf persona. And really, there was no going back from that.

From her throne, Countess Narina leaned forward anxiously at Sharah and Alderil's admittance. The new steward was standing at the bottom of the stair off to the side. Even Captain Burd and Marisia were present looking expectantly at the new arrivals. Just by the way the former stood nearer the throne, Sharah could tell the he and the Countess were still…spending time together. Sharah could practically scent the heightened emotions and thought processes happening here. Too bad the heightened awareness had to come with a boosted vicious streak as well.

The Wolf followed Alderil's example and stopped and bowed within speaking distance of the throne. Since she was the one who had been summoned, Sharah spoke first, "You sent a summons, my Lady." Impressive. She managed a formal greeting without growling or showing her teeth, and even sounded partway respectable.

The Countess replied hastily, "Yes. Captain Burd informed me your guild had been attacked. Is everything alright?"

_No, the traitorous bastards snaked their way into my Guild without anyone even knowing. Then, like the cowards they were, they sought to destroy my Guild in my absence. I intend to see every one of them strung up and skinned until they dye the earth red!_

Thank the Gods Alderil took over, "Yes, my Lady. We prevailed, although it cost us two of our number."

Narina's head dipped slightly in honest consideration, "You have my deepest sympathies. The Fighters Guild has always had a strong presence here. I am glad you won out." She addressed Sharah again, "Do you know who it was that attacked you?"

Alderil answered, "The Companions of Skyrim, my lady. They infiltrated our guild and attempted to do harm to us from within. But, as I said, they were unsuccessful."

"Companions? In Bruma? I always heard them to be a respectable group."

"As have we, my lady. But there is no doubt."

Alderil continued to answer Narina's questions. He did as Sharah had told him: He told the Countess they regretted the conflict but believed it would not occur again, and assured her that they did not require aid as all that could be done was already being accomplished. And all through the discussion, Sharah remained rigid on the spot, and avoided looking anyone in the eye lest they see what was happening in her head.

On several occasions Narina attempted to direct her inquiries to Sharah. But Alderil intercepted each attempt like a practiced Altmer diplomat, permitting her to remain silent. But her muteness did not go unnoticed.

After a time, when Sharah was hoping Countess Narina would soon run out of questions, the Countess stood from her throne, "I will speak with the Wolf of Cyrodiil alone." Without waiting for acceptance or refusal she strode into the private meeting chamber off the main audience one.

Sharah swapped a look with Alderil. But what could either of them really do. And as much as Sharah did not want to speak directly with Narina at this time, she wasn't prepared to snub the woman by just walking out. So the Altmer remained where he was and Sharah followed after Narina. In the meeting chamber, Narina dismissed the guards therein. They walked past Sharah on their way toward the door and closed it behind them, leaving the two women alone.

The meeting chamber was not unfamiliar to Sharah. She had spent time here. The first time she'd been in the castle in fact. It had no doubt hosted any number of occasions. The table at the room's center had doubtless been spread with maps and battle strategies during times of conflict as well as refreshments and the like during more peaceful times. The choice of a rounded table was not lost on Sharah. A previous ruler had chosen it for the physical manifestation of equality of those present. And Narina, in her wisdom, had chosen to retain it. It was at this table that she and Sharah had once sat and spoken, doffed protocol and station for the sake of sharing knowledge and learning. But that had been so long ago.

Narina walked about the table, drawing her fingers across its surface, "Do you remember the first time we met, Sharah?"

So she'd been recalling that as well. Sharah nodded, "I do. You summoned me then, too, I believe."

Narina turned to look at her, "I invited you. And you came of your own will."

"The stipend didn't hurt," Sharah remarked.

Narina measured the response. "Your memory is cast in a harsher light it seems." It was a few more steps to the chair she normally occupied. She crossed the distance and laid a hand on the armrest. I remember sitting here with someone long ago. She was young and eager. She had the same passion for learning that I did. I was less a countess to her and more a person. I was so glad to know her." She looked up at Sharah, "You were younger then."

Sharah looked toward the fireplace, preferring the flames to what was showing on Narina's face. "Things change. People change. A lot has happened since then." Both good and bad.

"Is that why you do not call me Narina?" Sharah glanced up at the Countess, and was pained to see the honest and hurt thoughts behind the inquiry. "Even when you guarded my sister, you never called me Narina without prompting. Why is that?" Sharah didn't have an answer. Narina didn't seem to expect one. She came around the chair and sat down. The very chair she had occupied during their initial meeting when the two of them had sat discussing Akaviri and ancient history so long ago. "What has happened in your guild?"

Sharah took a single step into better view but did not move to take the chair across from the Countess. "Alderil has told all. There is nothing more to add."

Narina replied softly, "We both know that is not true." She reached out and patted the armrest of the chair across from her, "Please, join me. Let us talk like we did before."

Sharah hesitated at the request. But ultimately she approached the chair, if cautiously, finally lowering down into it as though it were a wild horse that might buck her off. And all under Narina's careful scrutiny. The cushion made the chair no more comfortable for her. It just felt hard and unnecessarily straight, the room seemed too small, the company…She just didn't want to be here. Her thoughts were on the wilderness, on her weapons, on her enemies. This was not the place for her.

Sharah waited anxiously for Narina start asking questions. The sooner they got through this inquiry the better. But Narina just sat there, waiting patiently. Expectantly. The quiet pressed in like heavy armor. Sharah couldn't take it for long. "Why must you do this? Why can't you just accept what's been said and have done with it?"

"Because you haven't told me everything. And because whatever you haven't told me is troubling you."

Sharah came to her feet and paced. It was better than sitting in that chair, although it called to attention the size of the room. "You cannot help us. The Companions will not attack here again. And this issue is beyond Bruma's influence."

"Your Fighters Guild is within my influence. Your guild members are my charges. What threatens you is a threat to me."

"Perhaps here in the city," Sharah replied, "But this reaches beyond that. Far beyond."

"How so?"

Sharah grasped for a reason, any reason to convince the Countess to step back, "The Companions camp in the Jerall Mountains, over the Skyrim border." Seemed reason enough.

Narina crossed her arms, "So you think to tie my hands in this because it's outside my county?"

"Your hands are tied. Are you saying you would send troops there to attack them in return? That you would risk insighting a conflict between the provinces, in which your city would be on the front lines? You would not send your men to seek your Madstone. You cannot send your guard for the sake of our fight." All the little intricacies of nobility and government were bursting forth. The little things that would leave the Companions to the edge of Sharah's blade.

Narina regarded her, "The Madstone was a personal passion of mine. Are you saying this is personal for you?"

Sharah hesitated, avoiding the Countess's eyes. She paced, the room once again feeling small. The treachery at the guildhall taking center stage in her mind and boiling her blood with rage, "They attacked us from within. There were Companions living within our guildhall that today turned on their brothers and sisters and tried to kill them. Yes. I consider this personal."

The Countess leaned forward, fingers woven together, "And are you refusing assistance for my political sake or for your own pride?"

She twitched, her lip rising a bit over her teeth, perhaps because Narina had struck home with her inquiry. "Both. This is guild business. They attacked us specifically. And you cannot lend help any more than I wish you to. I will see this finished because I must and because I want to. For all that you are a Countess, your desire to help us is irrelevant _because_ you are a Countess. This crosses the border. You cannot help without endangering the rest of your charges and city." Sharah thought that effectively blocked Narina and her soldiers from the fight.

Sharah turned to face the Countess, "I appreciate your intentions. But this is our fight. And we will finish it." Narina's expression was not hard. More sad. Like she was disappointed that Sharah was so bent toward handling this herself and would permit no one, friend or otherwise, to give her their aid. It cut Sharah deep to have caused it, but she clung to her victory. Even if it wasn't one to be proud of.

"If there's nothing else, my lady." In an act similar to the Countess's, Sharah did not wait for a dismissal or further discussion. This castle was too small, the walls too thick. She needed to be outside. Sharah left the meeting chamber, ignoring whatever protocol was involved with departing from court. This was not noble business. This was the business of Fighters and Companions. Narina had no right to interfere. But back at the guildhall, alone with her thoughts…

She wanted to go out and seek those Companions who still wished her guild harm. She wanted to find them and end their lives as slowly and painfully as possible. And it wasn't right. She knew vengeance was clouding her mind's eye. That all she could think about was the rage.

She couldn't lead the guild against the Companions like this. Not just for revenge. It wasn't their way. It wasn't what the Fighters Guild did. It wasn't how they worked. They did for people what people couldn't do for themselves. They did not kill just for the sake of killing. But that was where her mind was now.

Sharah let her feet walk the room. So complicated. The Companions, their Harbinger, the Fighters Guild, her guildmates, Hafnir Iron-Blood. This should be about protecting her guild, like when it started. But all she could think about was killing, like the conflict was just an excuse. Her Wolf had run rampant long enough. She had to get it under control before they did anything else. Before she gave any more orders. Or Sharah was going to do something she couldn't make up for.

**Guest: *sigh* Sorry about Lucius. He and Bumph lost the coin toss over who was gonna die in this chapter.**

**Next update will be faster. Leave a comment below, and we'll deal with the Companions properly soon enough.**


	31. Battle of Tooth and Claw

**I've updated, please enjoy.**

Days passed. Sharah pointedly kept herself isolated from her comrades, not wanting to let them see her until she had her wolfish side well in hand. Which was harder to do than it should have been. It was frightening not to trust herself. She'd done things for the right reasons for so long and now it seemed so hard to sift through all the sharp edges and ill intents. Sharah wasn't so sure her urges were for the guild so much as for her own blood lust.

She essentially caged herself in Alderil's office, which he'd effectively handed over to her, bed and all. Sharah hoped it was because he understood she needed the space and not because he assumed it was the passing of leadership. Although the distinction would be lost on most of the members who were still content to answer to her during this whole battle of conscience. Like they needed more reason to convince themselves to follow her.

Sharah waited, meditated, tried to keep her growling and intensity to a minimum, her impulses under control. And waited for word. Word from Whiterun. Word that would make the decision she was struggling with meaningless.

_Please let it come. Let it come soon. Let it come before the Wolf gets loose again._

Five days following the attack on the guildhall, Sharah's attempt at meditation was broken by a sharp knocking at the office door.

"It's open," she barked.

Ansigar Ice-Hammer and Jacquelyn Iortesque came inside, and Sharah saw Jarik standing outside the threshold, still keeping within sight of Ansigar as Sharah had demanded. The women were of the same mind. And the same mind that Sharah had been trying to fight down within herself.

Ansigar demanded, "Wolf, we want to know when we're going after the Companions."

"We've waited long enough," Jacquelyn agreed, "They have to pay for what they did to us. They have to pay for the lives they took."

It was hard not let loose a battle cry and march for the door. She saw in them the same hunger she suffered from. The same desire for vengeance. But it was unlikely they felt it quite as Sharah did. She couldn't see them wading through a sea of faceless opponents just to see the flashes of red that came with their strikes.

Sharah looked toward the window, away from their anxious and expectant faces. They wanted her to lead them into battle. But they didn't understand the particulars. Sharah had shared very little of Johanna's information with her guildmates. Even Alderil. The location of the Companion camp in particular she kept to herself, not wanting anyone to jump the bow and take matters into their own hands. Which was a good move it seemed. With Ansigar and Jacquelyn looking as they did, the two of them looked ready to take off on their own. But wasn't that exactly what Sharah had been considering doing lately? The Fighters Guild shouldn't be driven by vengeance and blood-lust. But that hadn't kept it from seeding within her already. And apparently it hadn't kept that drive from seeding in them either.

Sharah sighed. She hadn't wanted to share the complications with anyone because she suffered enough knowing them. But…bearing the burden in silence did not ease others. Just like Leyawiin. Keeping it to herself did not help her guildmates to understand. And if they did, then how many of them would still wish to do battle with this Iron-Blood. And if they did choose to battle with her, she wouldn't want it to be done under the banner of the guild. That wasn't what the Fighters Guild stood for. But what other option was there?

Sharah paused as the answer crossed her mind. Then she looked up to her guildmates, "Call a guild-meeting. I'd like every guildmember assembled downstairs in an hour. Then I will tell all." And she would. She would tell them everything, and let them make the decision. Let them make the choice.

The two of them saluted, far less frustrated than when they had entered. When they were gone, Sharah started chuckling sadly. _Ah, Oreyn…perhaps you should have thought ahead before teaching me the lessons you did._

An hour later, Sharah went downstairs into the main room. As she'd asked, every guild member of the Bruma hall was present. And all of them expectant. Rienna and her trio were fitting in well here. All wounds received during the battle with the Companions had healed by now, thanks to the chapel healers' efforts. All armor and weapons had been made ready and they all seemed eager and expectant when they saw her. Even Right-Wind.

The Argonian had been more reserved since Bumph's passing. They had cremated her the evening of that battle. She'd been an outcast of her tribe and was more the Fighters Guild's kin than the Orcs'. Lucius had been wrapped appropriately and shipped home with a message for his family that the Guild had been privileged to have him and that he had died valiantly. Sharah hoped it would be enough.

Sharah looked from face to face across the gathered guild. They deserved the truth of things. She had no right to deny it to them.

"Thank you for coming. It is time you knew how things stand." No secrets. Not in this. Sharah took a breath before beginning, "It is true that the Companions infiltrated our guild and attacked us. Jarik will say himself that it was at the behest of one Hafnir Iron-Blood, a member of the Companions' inner Circle." The Nord dropped his eyes, avoiding any glances, angry or otherwise, that were directed toward him.

Sharah continued, "But what you do not know is why he did it. The Companions' respected advisor, their Harbinger, is growing old. He will have to name a successor soon. Hafnir Iron-Blood intended to distinguish himself by supplanting our guildhall in Bruma and replacing it with one dedicated to the Companions…But he did this without informing either his Harbinger or the Companions' Circle."

Plenty in the guildhall jerked in surprise. Even Jarik, proving that Hafnir had somehow arranged his assault without informing his own soldiers.

Sharah allowed them a moment to process, then went on, "As his deception became clearer to those he commanded, some realized and departed. One in particular: the last informant I went to speak with. She told me all of this. As well as the location from which he has been directing his assault against us. I know where Hafnir is camped. Or at least where he was camped a few weeks ago. I have been sending letters to Whiterun, to the Companions' Harbinger at their headquarters, informing him of Hafnir's attempts and warning him that the Fighters Guild would defend themselves. This was before the attack here. I have not yet received a reply."

The wolf within her thrummed, but Sharah kept it buried for the sake of her speech, "I do not know if their Harbinger has or will take action against his man. But in the next few days, I am going into the Jerall Mountains to find Hafnir. If their Harbinger has called him back to their headquarters, I will leave things to them. But if I should find him in the mountains, I intend to kill him and any who stand with him."

She looked once more across the faces of her guildmates, "I will not call anyone to come with me. I will not ask. I will not order. This is not for the protection of the Guild and the hall. As far as I'm concerned, their Harbinger will receive my messages and take action before Hafnir can orchestrate another attack against us. This is vengeance for what he's done. Pure and simple. And I have no qualms with doing it. But this is not guild business. It is not something I will lay at the feet of our Guildmaster. This is personal. I go for myself and my own intentions. If anyone should choose to accompany me, you will do this not as Fighters Guild, but as warriors only. As I will.

"There will be no order, and no report filed," Sharah said, particularly toward Alderil. "The day after tomorrow, I am going into the Jerall Mountains to hunt. And if I should find any who wish me harm because of the patch I wear, I fully intend to kill them. Anyone who wishes to is welcome to join me. I will be departing in the early morning. I leave the choice up to you." The exact final words Oreyn had used when he'd asked her to help him seek out Azani Blackheart. Although, this is a lesson he probably did not intend to teach her. But it was learned non-the-less.

No one made inquiries of her. Some were still sorting through the fact that the Companions were not universally their enemy. Jacquelyn, however, was one of those who remained unchanged. Sharah couldn't be certain, but she suspected the Breton would be one of those marching out with her.

She went back up to the office with no resistance. The wolf in her had finally calmed down. She was going out to kill Hafnir. And she was not involving the guild, per say. And she might not be going out alone. She was permitted an hour of time to herself before the guildhall's porter came upstairs, "Wolf, Countess Carvain has sent a summons for you."

Sharah leaned her head back with a forlorn sigh. She'd thought she'd put her foot down about this. Well, there was another day and a half for her guildmates to make their decision and prepare. This time Sharah went to the castle alone. Her wolf was relatively calm now that the hunt was assured, so Sharah assumed she could handle whatever the Countess wanted from her.

At Castle Bruma, rather than the audience chamber, Sharah was taken directly to the small meeting room where the Countess was waiting. And she was not alone. When Sharah entered, Countess Narina Carvain stood from her seat, "Ah, Sharah the Wolf. Thank you for being so timely. This is Captain Decimus of the Imperial Legion."

The man in the Legion armor standing over the table looked up and bowed in response to the introduction.

Narina continued, "I informed the Legion of the Companions' unprovoked attack on the city. Captain Decimus and his squadron have come to settle the matter and see the offenders arrested."

Sharah's jaw grew tight. _Why that sneaky…_ She thought to steal this hunt away from the Wolf and the Guild. This was not her fight. Or the Legion's.

Trying to keep herself steady, Sharah said, "May I speak with you alone, Countess?"

Even though there was no request in her tone, Narina looked her right in the eye and replied, "No." _Why that little—_ "I have informed Captain Decimus that you are aware of the location of the rest of these Companions. I have summoned you so that you may tell him, which you are duty bound to do as a citizen of the Empire."

Duty?! She was arguing duty? And to the Empire? The Empire had no place in this. Nor did Narina. She had no right to butt in where she wasn't wanted. Where her help wasn't wanted. This was the Wolf's fight. Her guildmates' fight. It was their blood and tears that had been shed for it.

Sharah just about winced recalling the white sheets draped over the still bodies of her comrades. Was she really going to refuse help on the grounds of her pride? None of them knew what was waiting in that Companions' camp. It could be empty, or hosting an army, or the entire Circle. Everyone who went could die in this. And if the presence of even one Legion soldier could save a guildmate's life, wouldn't that be worth the 'interference'?

Sharah fought down her territorial urge and addressed the Captain, "There is a price to my information. My guild is to accompany you." When the Captain made to protest, she cut him off, "This is non-negotiable. The two casualties of that attack were from our number. We will be coming with you."

Captain Decimus remained resistant as he came around the table toward her, "I am sorry for your loss. But the Legion cannot afford to have civilians on a mission like this."

Sharah didn't budge, "We are Fighters, not townsfolk. We have more experience fighting the Companions than you do. And my people will follow orders. The condition remains. If you're going up against the Companions, my guild is going with you."

Captain Decimus stood for a moment, weighing the development. After what was likely the exact final considerations the Wolf had made moments ago in regards to the additional manpower, he replied, "Fine then, you and your guild can accompany my unit on this mission. But let's be clear, the Fighters Guild is to play secondary on this. I understand that the loss of your comrades must be difficult. But I will not permit this to turn into a bloodbath on my watch. Understood?"

Sharah nodded coldly, "Understood. My guildmates will need tomorrow to prepare and can leave the following morning." As she'd intended in the first place

The Captain nodded and indicated the map, "Now, if you would show me where we are going?"

Sharah carefully pointed out the location of the Companions' camp, as well as the pertinent paths of access and the overlooking slope to the south and west. All of the things she'd been studying about the location during the last few days, planning out her attack.

Her suspicion piqued as she talked. He might take her information and depart prematurely, leave behind the Guild as a potential liability. It was what Sharah would have done. Or perhaps she was just assuming everyone was as duplicitous and driven as she was. It wouldn't matter much anyway. Sharah and her guildmates would follow after. They might be chartered through the Empire but the Fighters Guild was a mercenary group by definition. And orders from a Legionnaire only meant so much.

All relevant details shared, Captain Decimus excused himself from the chamber, bowing to the Countess, who had remained through the entire process, before departing.

That left Sharah and Narina alone together. They looked awkwardly at each other, even though Narina retained her Countess composure. Neither of them could take it for very long and Sharah followed Captain Decimus's path toward the door. But she hesitated in the threshold.

"Narina."

The Countess stood stiffly, waiting for the Wolf's rebuke.

Instead, Sharah looked back at her and spoke more gently than she had in some time, "Thank you."

Narina was surprised but pleased and smiled back, "You're welcome. Come back safe."

Sharah bowed, but there was little formality in the gesture.

Outside, the Wolf returned, her stride set and her face alight. Things were moving now. And tomorrow couldn't pass fast enough. Where yesterday she'd hoped the Harbinger would make this battle unnecessary, now she hoped he'd never received her letters. She was ready for the coming fight. More than ready. She was eager for it. With bared fangs and bloody intent.

XXX

Not all of the Guild stood ready that morning. She hadn't expected them all. Perhaps two thirds were garbed for war. Rienna and her men were battle ready. As were Ansigar and Jacquelyn and Jarik with them.

"Can you truly lift your weapons against your former Companions?" she asked of him.

Jarik replied resolutely, "Yes. I am Fighters Guild." That was enough for her.

Alderil and Right-Wind were there to wish them well, but did not intend to take part. Sharah respected the choice and hoped their blades would not be missed.

"You'll contact headquarters if anything happens, right?"

Alderil saluted, "I will. Take care of ours out there." Sharah grinned wolfishly and they marched out.

The going was slow with the Legion soldiers and her heavy armor guildmates. More often than not, Sharah found herself out in front. Not because she was leading, but because her Wolf Armor was lighter than a solid steel cuirass and she was anxious to reach their destination. Almost anxious enough to run ahead of them…almost.

The Companions' camp was over the ridge of the Jerall Mountains and into the province of Skyrim. By all legalities the Imperial Legion was the only armed force that could cross the borders. So, officially speaking, the Fighters Guild received a pass _because_ they were with the Legion unit. Truly Narina had done Sharah a favor calling them in. She figured she owed the Countess more than a thanks and apology for how she'd behaved.

The camp was nestled into the wilderness. Well off the road and hidden within the peaks and troughs of the mountain range. It was unlikely that the Legion would have found it without Sharah's directions. The topic of strategy came up when they moved off the main road.

Sharah accepted that the Legion would lead the encounter, whether it turned into a battle or not. Captain Decimus was insistent that they attempt to resolve this in a non-violent manner. Sharah directed the Fighters Guild to take up positions on the slope above the camp as backup should things turn sour. She also encouraged those who could cast magic spells to do just that, taking advantage of those Companions who were vulnerable because they wore those pendants of Hrothgar.

Sharah herself would enter with the Legion. The Companions would know her. Hafnir Iron-Blood would know her. And Sharah hoped it would provoke them into attacking before Captain Decimus's non-violent method could carry through.

When the Guild had been given sufficient time to get into position, the Legion unit, with Sharah in attendance, made their way through the last pass into the camp. It was clear this camp had been here for a while. The fire pit had been built up with wood and stone. There were larger, sturdier tents than an overnight camp would have included. And the regular dirt paths and gathering places had been trampled flat by the constant tread of feet. And the Companions were assembled and waiting, like they had smelled the company coming.

The Companions' formation drew the on-looking eye to one at their center. He was a typical muscle-bound Nord. Perhaps a little taller, perhaps a bit thicker, and possessing of more scars than most earned in their lives. Sharah wondered briefly who or what had inflicted so many marks. He leaned on a massive battle-axe and perused the soldiers that had come into his camp, noticing the obvious: that one was not like the rest.

He looked her over, but didn't sneer or scoff. Just said, "You're Sharah the Wolf. The one who killed my men."

Sharah came to a stop one pace ahead of the Legion, taking a firm grip on her shield and settled Umbra on her hip, "I am. And you are Hafnir Iron-Blood. The one who is taking steps against my Guild."

Captain Decimus tried to take official command of the situation, "Hafnir Iron-Blood? You have been accused of initiating an unprovoked attack on the city of Bruma. I am obligated to take you and all your companions in for questioning."

Hafnir ignored the Legionnaire and continued speaking to Sharah. "Sharah the Wolf. You shame the name." He spat at the ground to punctuate his insult.

Sharah replied, "And you shame your Companions. How many of your followers here know you're doing this without the Harbinger's knowledge? Do you really think either him or your Circle would approve if they knew?"

He wrenched his axe up from the ground and took a menacing step towards her, "You know nothing of us."

She grinned wickedly, "I know that everyone I've spoken with has told me the same thing: 'the Companions are honorable. They would never attack the Fighters Guild.' That should tell you something, Iron-Blood. And we both know why you're doing this secretly. Because you _know_ he wouldn't approve. And you _know_ he would have nothing to do with this or you."

She directed her words to the rest of them, aiming to put splinters in their unifying purpose, "Why do you think he's the only member of the Circle who's ever been here? Why do you think Johanna left?" The first was pure speculation. But judging by the sideways glances that were being cast about, it proved true enough.

Hafnir snarled, "Johanna was a traitor. She didn't have what it took for the mission."

"She had a noble heart and knew what you were doing was wrong. And if she was a traitor, what does that make you?"

"I am a Companion!" he growled, Sharah's wolfish tendencies reflected in the Nord before her.

Captain Decimus declared loudly, "Hafnir Iron-Blood, by order of the Imperial Legion, you are under arrest."

The Nord growled, "If something is to be done right, you must do it yourself. I'll remove your Guild, right down to the foundations of your hall."

"Talk, talk, talk," Sharah mocked, drawing Umbra from its sheath, the motion being echoed by the soldiers behind her, "Come to my blade, if you dare."

Captain Decimus pulled his blade free, shouting, "Hold. Everyone hold!" His last attempt to take the non-violent route. Too little, too late.

Sharah prepared to receive Hafnir as he came at her. But even as he threw his weight into a first strike, he was forced to swerve in order to avoid a fireball that was discharged from the slope above them. Every Companion went for their weapons as a body of Fighters Guild flowed down the hill and the Legion soldiers moved to intervene. The situation devolved from there.

Jacquelyn got off a few fireballs while going down the slope. But they were fighters, not mages. Within a yard of the bottom, and with a surge of power that belied her heritage, the Breton was airborne. She drew the war axe from its sheath upon her back and brought it down with a rabid battle cry that threw off her chosen target, leaving an opening. Jacquelyn's axe found it, striking nearly all the way through the arm it found within.

Ansigar proved far more cool-headed. She used the relative safety of the slope to weave a complex summoning spell into the rift between Mundus and Oblivion. Called by her symbol, a creature appeared within the body of the Companions. It was composed of stones and swirling vaporous clouds that lit up like a storm was contained within. A storm atronach. Sharah had never seen one before as they were immensely difficult to summon and control. Hopefully Ansigar had a handle on it because the Nord was now streaking down the slope with her war hammer in hand and all about control even though there was a fire in her expression.

Sure enough, the atronach's stone form turned into a swirling vortex, the stone pieces whipping around in a tornado of vapor and lightning. The flying stone and electricity did damage to all those nearby while Ansigar engaged another companion, hammer to hammer.

All of this was of passing interest to Sharah. Her attention was only for Hafnir. His avoidance of the missile had upset his stance and landed him on the ground. Sharah rushed for him immediately. The Nord saw her coming, too fast to gain his feet before they engaged. Instead he flipped onto his back and kicked out as she came level with him. Sharah raised her shield at the last moment. His feet struck it squarely and sent her flying to land a couple yards away in an oncoming force of Companions. She curled tight and knocked into them, sending a few to the ground and then used the momentum to summersault over them and onto her feet somewhat behind them.

She cursed at finding herself separated from her true prey, but engaged her new foes regardless. She held them off, dealing damage as she could to the meat heads that surrounded her, but couldn't manage to deal fatal blows when she was defending herself against six at once. The wall of muscle was struck by two mer cannon balls: Elidor and Brag. The performed dual body slams into her enemies, breaking and distracting and sparing Sharah enough enemies so she could do some real damage.

But when she had an instant to breath, Sharah sought out Hafnir. The bastard was fighting three Imperial soldiers at once. Sharah immediately began fighting her way toward him. An enemy to her left burst full into flame when Jacquelyn threw a fireball at him. One coming at her from the right stumbled and hit the ground when an arrow sprouted from his calf, courtesy of Rienna who was shooting from the slope covered by two Imperial legionnaires. Ansigar and her atronach fought with more soldiers, although the atronach was missing several pieces of itself.

Sharah pressed forwards through the fray, but not fast enough. It was clear that the tide of the battle was turning. The Companions were born and raised as true Nordic warriors. But they were outnumbered before the Legion and Guild. And the guild members who had come, had done so with a vendetta. They were going to lose. And their leader knew it.

With a roar, Hafnir forced his way through the line of Legionnaires, ferocious as an animal. Sharah saw him break through and make for the trees. Sharah weaved through the combatants, dodging blows, aiming straight for where he'd disappeared.

Ansigar saw her running and yelled, "Wolf, where are you going?"

Sharah shouted back, "Iron-Blood's running. I'm not gonna let him get away." She shield bashed her last obstacle in the face. With the woods before her, the fair-minded portion of her thinking added, "Take as many alive as you can." Then she turned her back on the battle fully and pursued her quarry into the woods.

This was it. The culmination of the wolfish drive within her. The snow and earth beneath her feet. The cold air biting at her skin and piercing the depths of her lungs and turning them as cold as stone. Her muscles throbbing and screaming at the pace she set. And the whirling rush of adrenaline and blood-lust leaving behind all thought but those toward her quarry. This was the one who'd threatened her Guild. This was the one who'd tried to have her killed. There would be no mercy for him.

She followed Hafnir as he fled through the wilderness, her heightened senses picking up his trail as fast as she could move. She had to sheath Umbra and discard her shield before too long in order to keep up with him. For being so large, the Nord was quick. More than that, he seemed at home in the forest.

Sharah was taken completely off guard when she came through a line of brush and collided with him head-on. The heavy Nord grasped for her throat, but Sharah's wolf broke through entirely and she sank her teeth into his hand hard enough to draw blood.

He yelled and shook her loose, "You little bitch!"

Sharah put a few feet between them, spitting and swallowing to clear her mouth. "I prefer the term 'she-wolf'," she muttered, whipping her lower lip clean.

Hafnir shook his bleeding hand and drew the battle axe off his back, "You're not worthy of that title."

She pulled Umbra free, eager to go at him, "You'll understand if I tell you to shove your opinion up your ass."

He attacked with a roar. The Companion was faster than he should have been, but she was faster than that. She was stronger than she looked, but he was stronger than her. They battled in a frenzy. Hafnir swung his battle-axe with enough strength to cleave her in two if he could just hit her as she darted and dodged between his limbs and blows. And for all his bulk, Sharah found it difficult to land a hit where he wasn't protected by thick metal plates.

The longer the blood-rage ran through her, the more animal ferocity bled into her movements. She'd maneuver on three or four limbs, claw at him every chance she got, and her teeth were perpetually bared and the growl in her throat resounded without pause.

Hafnir managed to catch her with the flat of his axe and knocked her away. But the blow was broad and she landed on all fours, a reflex that suited her now.

Hafnir breathed hard, "You think you're some kind of wolf, bitch?" Sharah's answer was to snarl at him. He scoffed and tossed his axe away. Sharah looked on warily as he yanked at the straps that held on his armor, casting the pieces to the ground, "You think you're some kind of wolf? I'll show you wolf."

The Nord began to spasm and Sharah saw his eyes flash amber before he doubled over with a grunt of pain. He trembled and held himself. Was his hair growling courser? Then she heard the first bone pop. And it didn't stop with one. The snaps and cracks multiplied like his body were being crushed from within. But he didn't collapse. In fact, he was growing, what remained of his clothing stretching and ripping further as his muscles and body expanded. And his hair wasn't just growing longer and courser but denser until it covered his skin entirely.

Sharah's instincts told her to attack and kill him now, before he was down with…whatever was happening to him. But she could only stare as he transformed before her eyes into a beast that might plague her nightmares.

At last, the sickening cracks ceased. The thing that had once been Hafnir flexed its claws, threw back is protruding toothy maw and howled a sound that echoed through the trees and into the sky. Sharah remembered someone mentioning werewolves to her once. It seemed the only word that could fit this thing. But she'd filed them under urban myth at the time. Not so, it seemed.

The werewolf looked at her, mouth open as though laughing or sneering at her. But Sharah feel no fear. Anger, rage even, perhaps a little concern that her opponent had suddenly become larger, stronger and likely faster. But no fear. Just bloody intent.

Sharah drew her poisoned dagger and raised Umbra to the ready, "Come to my blade if you dare, mongrel."

The beast roared, and obliged.

Hafnir lunged for her with outstretched claws, gnashing his teeth in rage. Sharah threw herself off to his right, escaping his claws by scant inches but marking his arm as she passed. He landed roughly on his forearms, skidded in the snow and turned round, not bothering to check his wound. Sharah did the same, a mere flick of her eyes measuring the blood on her blade's edge…her poisoned dagger's edge.

He was faster than before. And significantly stronger. It didn't intimidate her in the least. It excited her. This would be a battle. Pain. Blood. Suffering. And with him so strong, it would last all the longer. And perhaps satisfy her. Then perhaps he would be permitted to die. Sharah's wolf howled as Hafnir roared and attacked again.

This time he did not launch himself forward, but clawed on all fours and low to the ground. Sharah met him part way, avoiding his attacks like before while trying to find another opportunity to strike. At least she almost avoided his attacks. Hafnir's claws marked her often, scratching through her armor instead of ripping through her flesh. But she bled, soon from many marks. But she paid him back, mostly with her dagger.

Sharah couldn't make Umbra go where she wanted. He was too fast and the blade too cumbersome by comparison. Not that it mattered for long. Hafnir lashed out and knocked the crystalline longsword from her hand. When he next struck, Sharah dove between his legs, slashing his calf as she shimmied through. Hafnir's muscle was denser than before, so her slice didn't go as deep as she'd hoped. But the pain did distract him long enough for her to gain her feet and leapt onto his back.

Using the same attack she'd performed on an ogre of Weatherleah, Sharah clung to Hafnir's back and stabbed her dagger into her foe again and again. One hand stayed knotted around a handful of his course hair, while her feet found purchase in the starkly defined bones that rode out from his figure.

Hafnir roared, bucking and shaking like a wild bronco. And that was just to start. Then the beast flipped over and rolled atop her. Sharah distributed her weight to avoid breaking anything, even letting go of her dagger rather than crusher hand between it and the ground. But Hafnir rolled too eagerly and his roll positioned her dagger betwixt his weight and the hard packed earth. While the breath was forced from her lungs as he landed on top of her, Sharah's dagger was driven deeper, forcing the handguard and a portion of the hilt into his skin. Hafnir roared in agony and rolled back onto all fours, carrying Sharah with him as she'd refuse to let her grip go.

While he took a pair of breaths, Sharah recovered and tried to pull her dagger out. But it was stuck deep and coated in blood. Her fingers slipped over the small revealed pommel, and before she could get a proper grip, her enemy lurched. Sharah clung to Hafnir's back as he lumbered backward. Too late Sharah realized where he had aimed and he struck her against the trunk of a tree. Sharah tried not to think of how her bones bended.

The first impact was enough to loosen her grip. Instead of dropping to the ground, Sharah forced herself to reach up and close a hand around the first tree branch she found. Sharah let go of Hafnir completely before he could slam her back again. Then she kicked the pommel of her dagger hard. The pain made him crumple rather than smash her into the tree again, and gave Sharah time to haul herself upward. She achieved about six feet of height before the beast got back into the fight.

He roared up at her and launched into the tree. But the beast he'd become was too cumbersome to maneuver as she did. And he seemed to have lost some cognitive ability as well. Hafnir clawed and roared and swiped at her, gouging bark from the tree and snapping off limbs he might have used for support. All the while clacking his jaws at her.

Sharah climbed a bit higher to avoid the wake of his damage and forced herself to think. She was left weaponless. And the poison wasn't working fast enough. Why wasn't it working? He was slowing a bit, but it was impossible to see the affect when he ignored it so. Sharah looked out into the clearing and saw Umbra lying like a shard of darkness on the moon lit snow. It was a better chance than getting to her dagger.

She waited for an opening. Then she threw a fireball into Hafnir's face, then leapt down and used his shoulder as a platform to propel herself away, dealing a kick to his maw on the way. Sharah rushed the distance to her sword and dove for it. With the sounds of four legged pursuit behind her, Sharah twisted around and anchored Umbra's pommel into the ground as Hafnir rushed the last few feet to reach her. His momentum carried through, driving Umbra into his chest as he slammed into Sharah.

He roared in pain. But a sword through his chest didn't stop him. He came out of the roar, jerking his open mouth down and sinking his teeth ferociously into her shoulder. Sharah yelled as white-hot pain seared through her, blooming as he ripped into her flesh all the way down to the bone. He clawed at her wildly. Gods damn the beast. There was no getting Umbra loose between the body and the ground, but she jerked and twisted it around trying to do as much damage as she could. But he just wouldn't' stop, wouldn't slow.

With her free hand, Sharah clawed at his side and back. Then her fingers touched a hard protrusion. Despite the slick metal surface, desperation fueled her efforts and Sharah yanked her dagger free of its home. Then she gave it another in his side. Then a third in his stomach. His chest, his abdomen, and still he would not slow. She drove it again into his chest. Then worked her arm up and plunged it into his shoulder, his cheek, his neck. Again and again, his blood dripping hot onto her face and shoulders, mingling with her own and staining the snow.

Animal instinct must have taken over because he released her shoulder and heaved away from the deadly blade. Sharah yanked both blades loose and scrambled backwards. Every motion was painful but she got her feet beneath her and stumbled a few feet out of reach.

Hafnir remained where he was, trembling on all fours. His fur was matted with sweat and blood, his wounds many and all of them oozing. He snarled at her and tried to move forward, but his limbs would not obey and he tottered first in one direction, then another. At last the poison did its work. But his fire remained. Despite his inability to retain mastery of his body, he snapped at her and growled and the fire in his eyes never let up. Sharah kept away, staggering a little herself, but not so tired that she did not revel in the agony of her enemy.

A shadow of her former self surfaced as the heat of their battle cooled, arguing that they should end his pain. That no one, not even an enemy, should have to suffer like he was, stumbling about like a newborn pup, weak and pathetic. But the wolf in her only insisted that this wasn't enough. That he should suffer for an eternity, regretting and ruing his actions.

Hafnir bunched his legs beneath him and lunged for her. But one gave out part way and he landed heavily and several feet short. The beast could no longer even gather his limbs beneath him and lay there panting and whimpering through a steady stream of growls which seemed to hiss out through both his mouth and the hole in his chest. He was intent on fighting to his last breath, but his body would fight no more.

What remained of her conscience begged for mercy and a swift end. The wolf snarled but considered. Hafnir likely couldn't feel his body at this point. The greatest of suffering was done. But if it would silence the pleas of that humanitarian in the back of her head.

Sharah the Wolf approached her beaten opponent, wary of any last ditch attempts to do her harm. His fiery determined eyes followed her every step. His shoulder heaved as Umbra struck out and into his chest properly, piercing the heart that his lunge had kept her from. A strangled cry sounded in his throat and Hafnir's form slumped and the light in his eyes finally faded.

It was done. Her enemy and the enemy of her guild was dead. But it wasn't enough. The Wolf in her was still eager and hungry. More blood. More death. The killing of Hafnir should have been enough. She'd taken lives aplenty through this. How many Companions had she killed personally during this conflict. Ten? Fifteen? Certainly that should satisfy any killer's appetite. But not the wolf's. It growled and picked out the direction from which they'd come. Hopefully there were still Companions alive that she could execute.

A few steps forward, Sharah's vision dimmed and she abruptly lolled sideways, catching herself against a tree. She held an arm around her middle and shuddered. There was a fire in her belly that had suddenly surged within her, all the way out to her extremities. She felt hot, like a sudden fever had come over her. Perhaps it was the shock of the wounds ebbing. The feeling passed after a moment and Sharah righted herself to continue on her way.

She looked up to find her path blocked. He took the form of a tall lean humanoid, taller than an Altmer, bare chested with animal skin garments covering his lower half. His head was concealed beneath the skull of a stag whose antlers rose regal and colossal and branched into an incredible cluster of horns. Or perhaps his head was the stag skull. He was not fully corporeal and Sharah could see partially through him. But even if Hircine could not, or chose not to, take full form on Mundus, the aura of Oblivion was still strong around the Daedric Prince. As was the feeling of things wild and of the hunt. Something her wolf could relate to, even if it was more interested in the rage and blood and death that came at the end.

Sharah couldn't see his eyes, but she felt him look back at the battle scene and the broken body of her enemy. Then those eyes bored into her. She stiffened and adjusted her stance. Even if she had no chance of contending with a Daedric Prince, there was too much rage and aggression still in her for Sharah to back down from anything or anyone.

The expression of Hircine, the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, could not be read from beneath the skull. Then he moved, faster than she could see, and raked his massive clawed hand straight through her middle. Sharah yelled out at the blinding agony and clutched at herself, fully expecting to find her stomach ripped out and only ragged flesh remaining. But she found her armor and body no more damaged than before. But the pain was so intense! Sharah doubled over and went to her knees groaning as tears sprang to her eyes. Even if she was whole, it still felt as though he'd truly ripped her open.

Still standing over her, Sharah heard Hircine grumble, "A waste of a hunter."

She thought he might be referring to Hafnir behind her, but the Daedra hadn't lifted his eyes from her. And he spoke as though he were being robbed of something. Then another dose of blinding pain tore through her body, coupled with a wave of heat from her belly. Sharah lost track of all her senses and had a strong impulse to throw up.

But the Wolf in her fought it down, forcing the fire in her belly to stay right where it was, even as the rest of her body was trying to expunge it. Sharah went to all fours heaving and shuddering as wave after wave of heat and pain and sick ran through her.

She fought against it. Part of her wanted this. The wolf part. It wanted the fire in her belly. Knew, somehow, that it would make her stronger and more powerful. It wanted that, wanted to kill with that. All it knew was rage and blood and death, and wanted more of all of it.

Sharah was frightened by it. That couldn't be what she'd turned into. That couldn't be all she was. It was like this wolf was someone else's wrath within her, alive and unending. It was a part of her but now it didn't seem _of_ her. And she'd let it get out of hand. And now it wouldn't stop. She couldn't make it stop. The tears running down her face were chilled against the flush of her skin as Sharah's body fought her willful rage, and Sharah herself just wanted it all to stop.

Then she was enfolded. It was cool and calming, easing the heat and pain, and urging Sharah to just let go. The wolf rebelled against the soft and gentle mantle that was being drawn around it. It wanted the fire inside. It wanted the power. But the human part of Sharah's soul did not resist the force. She clung to the comfort as the wolf clutched at the fire in her belly. But the rage was losing its grip with each passing instant, while the comfort remained steady, encouraging the release. The wolf fought heartily but could not win out. After what seemed like an eternity of struggle Sharah was at last able to exercise control over this part of her, the wolf at last tamed. Sharah released a sigh of relief as the sea of rage ebbed from her at last. Then she retched upon the ground.

She didn't fight the convulsions as she heaved the contents of her stomach out onto the ground. The comfort remained, supporting Sharah gently and pressing what felt like a cooling hand to her forehead through the entire ordeal. When Sharah had at last heaved herself dry, the heat of her stomach was gone. She shuddered one last time and toppled sideways to the ground, utterly exhausted.

**So let's be clear: Sharah is not a werewolf, was never a werewolf, and will never be a werewolf. I know, I really seemed to ride that possibility, but it was for another purpose entirely.**

**Thanks for reading, leave a review.**

**NOTE: I'm taking a hiatus on writing. I think I've tired out my muse with this story. So I'll give her a break and come back to it in a few weeks. Thanks for keeping track of me and I'll see you when I get back!**

**NOTE 2: I'm back from hiatus and writing again. Enjoy the chapters that come after this one.**


	32. Your Companions and Mine

**At long last, the dam has broken and my muse is back! Praise the Nine! Ugh...I have a thorough dislike of the Circle now though. They just wouldn't cooperate with this chapter. I was working with them for the last month to get their bit done. And they couldn't make it easy for me, could they? Nooooo. Just had to be difficult. Darned werewolves...they don't deserve their kibble...  
**

**Ok, I am back. The story should flow more readily for me now so updates will be regular depending not on inspiration, but on time to type it out. I'll let you know if any significant setbacks rear up. Let's pray it doesn't for a while, because that hiatus was longer than I expected.**

**Huge 'THANK YOU' to WZ and MasterAssassin2012 for their help fixing the last chapter. Go back and check it out if you haven't already. Battle scenes have been extended, added and improved thanks to these two fantastic folks. And, of course, a big round of applause to my beta, Aletheya, for checking through all my chapters. And to you folks, you fantastic readers you, for sticking with me through this ordeal. **

**I am absolutely still accepting OC's, and I hope you like this chapter (Now that it's finally done. GAH! That took a while).**

She might have fallen asleep, passed out, or simply laid there for a while with her eyes closed. Whichever it was, when Sharah opened them again she was alone. And whichever it was, it had afforded her no rest. She felt utterly drained of magicka, strength. Everything. It took a great deal of effort just to roll onto her stomach to get to her feet, putting her face in her pile of sick in the process. Sharah gagged and wrenched away, her entire body protesting the sudden movement.

It felt like Oblivion had chewed her up and spit her out in the snow. Several of her wounds stung, her sudden movement having opened them to the bitter air. Her ribs informed her that a couple were cracked. And everything else either ached or was sore or just plain hurt. She was a conglomerate of pain and little else, but her stubbornness drove Sharah up onto her feet. Although not before scrubbing her face clean with a handful of snow. Sharah lolled and reached out to steady herself on a tree and ended up putting all her weight against the trunk just to keep upright.

The shadows of the trees had lengthened, stretching from one side of the clearing to the other and partially concealing the body of Hafnir Iron-blood in the shade. The contrast of blood against the snow was dulled in the dimming Magus, but that didn't hide what remained of the man turned beast or what she'd done to him.

Looking at the body, her mind was strangely calm. The rage from before no longer boiled in her veins. She could look at this man turned beast, think of the Companions, and not immediately be overwhelmed by thoughts of blood and vengeance. The rage wasn't gone entirely, and she felt no regret for what she'd done to him. But the wrath didn't consume her any longer. And her thoughts were where they should be. She needed to get back to her guild. Sharah had abandoned the battle to go after Hafnir. She had to get back and make sure they were alright.

Sharah's limbs worked more like those of a marionette doll as she maneuvered herself back through the wilderness the way she'd come. She needed to get back to her guildmates. And the light in the sky was fading fast, as was what warmth the mountains had. She needed to get back, or risk dying of exposure during the night.

Using what was left of the day's Magus, Sharah worked back along the path she'd taken after Hafnir, leaving the Companion's body where it was. After some immeasurable time and distance, she found a small number of her guildmates who were traveling in her direction. Or perhaps they found her. Her appearance took them aback for a moment. Sharah tried not to think about what she must look like. But they recovered and called the news into the forest at top volume.

"She's here! We've got her!"

There were answering shouts from through the trees in a few directions. They'd come looking for her. And, as far as she could tell, those who'd found her seemed in one piece. By the Nine it was good to see them. Sharah toiled on despite her weakness and they worked their way, slowly but steadily, back to the flat open area that had served as Companion camp and battlefield. Thank goodness her hurts didn't translate to weakened eyesight and Sharah noted the happenings. There were some wounded, either tending themselves or being tended depending on the severity. Other folk were going through the camp things, picking out supplies or just rummaging around to pass the time. The battle seemed well over to her eye.

Sharah made an effort to account for each guildmate who had come up into the mountains, each familiar face being a weight off her heart. After all this Companion business and her rage driven actions, any loss or harm to the guild from this would be squarely on her shoulders. Hind sight was perfect. And she never should have brought them up here, especially not in the name of vengeance. They followed her. And they followed her because they trusted her. She led them. Which meant she had to think for their sake and not just her own. She should have known better.

By the Nine, what had happened to her? Why had she allowed herself to get so carried away that she dragged them up here to attack the Companions like this? All she'd had to do was be patient. All she'd had to do was wait until the Companions Harbinger did what was right. Instead Sharah had gotten so angry that she'd risked her guildmates for the sake of vengeance. She was their leader. She was supposed to be better than that. Instead she'd used them. Any loss or harm that had happened here was her fault. A fact driven like a nail into her chest when Sharah picked out the line of cloth covered bodies that had been laid against the slope at the edge of the camp.

Sharah's guildmates saw her the moment the search team brought her in. Those in camp were not all able, but several moved to cover the distance to reach her. And, perhaps because her progress back to the camp had been slow or just well timed, the other two search parties came out of the forest almost immediately and did the same. Sharah found herself mobbed by her comrades, asking hurriedly and in unison about what had happened and after her well-being. Their concern was appreciated, but Sharah really couldn't keep track of everything and the talk came to her garbled, going in one ear and out the other. Her attention was mainly on getting a head-count on her guild. And after the last search party returned and she couldn't think of anyone still missing, all Sharah's thoughts turned to getting her weight off her legs.

Thank the Nine for Ansigar Ice-Hammer. The Nord rounded on the pestering guild and barked, "Back up! Give her some space to breath."

The guild just about jumped back. Sharah laughed, jarring her ribs in the process and producing an involuntary groan of pain. She was allowed to make her way to a stump by the campfire, but she still felt her guild waiting expectantly for news, even those who weren't hovering within hearing distance. Sharah didn't keep the waiting for long.

"Hafnir Iron-Blood is dead. I met him in combat and slew him. He won't trouble the guild again." She allowed them a moment's relief and approbation before she started asking the hard questions. "The dead?"

Ansigar answered, "Six Companions fell, and one Legionnaire. But we didn't lose any of ours."

Well, that was a blessing of sorts. "Wounded?"

Elidor took a bad hit to the head, and Jacquelyn caught an axe in the leg. But everyone will be alright." When Sharah took a breath to question further it sent a stab of pain through her chest. She winced and needed a moment to breath and adjust her sitting position. It was a long enough moment for Ice-Hammer to venture, "Wolf, you're hurt."

Sharah nodded but asked, "How bad were the hits? Do we have good enough healers among us to mend them?"

"Yes. But unless we stay a few days Elidor will probably need a stretcher back to Bruma. He's healed up but not so great standing. Wolf, what about your wounds?"

"In a minute," Sharah maintained, "I want a run-through of what happened." She let some of that Oreyn style authority creep into her tone and it helped.

Ansigar reported while a number of her guild began drifting off to various activities or taking seats by the fire. "The battle went well. The Companions didn't fight long after you and Hafnir took off. Perhaps they thought he'd abandoned them. They surrendered and the Legion took them into custody. They're taking them to the nearest Legion outpost for processing. A couple soldiers stayed behind to man the camp and see if you came back."

Sharah looked toward where Ansigar motioned to see two Legionnaires standing at a distance, respectful of the guild's majority presence.

"Anything else?" Sharah asked.

"The Legion took their fallen man with them, but left the Companions' bodies behind. They didn't have the time or manpower to do anything more. But they'll probably be back in a day or two."

Sharah nodded. After a minute of thinking, she said, "I'm not in a state to travel. And I don't think Elidor would mind a night to recover. Would the rest mind passing a night here? It'll sure beat hoofing it in the forest."

There were no objections, and with the decision made guild members began making more deliberate preparations for camp. When some of her guild drifted away, Sharah beckoned to the Legionnaires forward from where they had been standing. They came as though summoned.

"Sorry about your man," Sharah began, "I hope there weren't too many injuries among your comrades."

One of them replied, "Thank you. And no, nothing bad enough to deter marching out. Although, you don't seem to have gotten out of it so well yourself."

She resisted shrugging, which would have brought another hiss of pain, "I've had worse." Probably. "I'd like to know what decisions were made in regards to this camp. Seems the Companions were well supplied. Supplies that could help us, since we're staying the night."

The Legionnaires traded glances. It seemed neither of them had expected to do much more than watch the camp until their officer sent reinforcements to secure the bodies and what else was here. "Well…I suppose that would be alright. Since you'll need the supplies."

"Good," Sharah said definitively. "And you're welcome to camp among us. That is, if you legionnaires don't mind mingling with mercenaries."

When Sharah made to stand, she found that her whole body had stiffened up while she'd been sitting. Damn mountain temperature. And it wasn't like she could cast any spells to ease things. Her magicka was still completely drained. It happened on occasion. She used up everything, right down to her reserves. Then it took an age and a half to return. Sharah half suspected it was a punishment from her body for using it all up in the first place. A sort of 'if you're not going to take care of it, then I'm taking it away' sort of thing.

One of her guildmates helped her up and over into one of the larger tents, which had been turned into the medical tent. Elidor was already laid out on a cot with a thick bandage about his head. Jacqueline was practically being held down while someone wrapped her leg. There were a few other minor injuries that were being taken care of as well, but nothing else that would keep her guildmates there long.

Some makeshift canvas dividers were erected to protect Sharah's modesty before she received attendance to her own wounds. The dark of her leather hid the blood. But once the wolf armor came off, the full story was told. Her chest and back were covered with great dark bruises. The bite wound had begun to feel hot, indicating it was likely infected. Small wonder really, but Sharah tried not to think of where else Hafnir's mouth had been. Not to mention all the partially dried blood that had formed a layer between her skin and armor. Which meant her guildmates had to actually peal it off of her, since Sharah couldn't manage it herself.

The process of getting her cleaned up and bandaged without causing too much discomfort took a while. Which meant she had plenty of time to think. She hadn't done right here. Sure they'd won. Sure they hadn't lost anyone. But she had had no right to bring her guildmates up here, no matter the technicalities of how she'd done it. It seemed Sharah hadn't learned Oreyn's lessons so well after all. He'd gone outside guild protocol for the sake of the guild itself. She'd done it for the sake of her bloodlust.

Sharah paused in her thoughts. But…he had gone after Blackheart. That had been, in part, about vengeance. But it had helped the guild in the end. Finding out about Blackheart and Blackwood Company interdealing had seeded mistrust in the Company and given the Fighters Guild a chance to breathe. But when Oreyn had found out about the deception, he'd been driven to confront and kill Blackheart. That wasn't so different from what she'd done here.

But it still didn't feel like she'd done right. Killing Blackheart had felt utterly justified. But this…she felt guilty about this. She growled, then winced as a bandage tightened abruptly around her chest. Why did life have to be so Divines damned complicated? Her sense of what was right and what was right and wrong had butted heads enough to make her skull ache.

Before she could start beating herself up about putting her guildmates in danger, an echoing howl from the wilderness cast a blanket of silence over the tent and the camp outside. Everyone became still and silent, including Sharah herself. The side of her that had spawned her blood lust perked. She knew that howl now. She'd heard it once today already.

She said firmly, "Take it easy. Rienna, go outside and make sure everyone remains calm. I want the watch brought in nearer to camp, though. We're likely to have company in not too long."

The Redguard did as she said as the last of Sharah's bandages were secured. Her armor was fairly shredded and not truly in a state to wear. Her guildmates had thought of this, however, and found a northern robe and cloak that were sized more toward her side of the spectrum. But not far enough. Sharah was still dwarfed in the clothes that were made for a much larger person. It was hard to mind too much though, given that they were just so warm. Sharah just wanted to nestle down into the fabric and fall asleep. But that was still some ways off. If she guessed right, the significant happenings of the day had not concluded. As if this Companions business hadn't gone on long enough already.

Sharah left the medical tent of her own power and walked out to where most of her guildmates had gathered about the firepit. They were all on edge, looking anxiously at the darkened line of trees beyond the firelight. Sharah pointedly asked after their supplies, the state of their arms and injuries, the progress of supper. Anything, to keep their minds from running away with them and conjuring fantasies of monsters. Not that she didn't think there were monsters on the approach. But the truth would only frighten them all, and fear was often a worse enemy than the one that was coming at you with a sword.

When one of the lookouts sounded an alert, more than a few hands went for their weapons. Sharah calmed them and a moment later, six strangers appeared from the treeline. An effective mountain of primarily Nordic muscle, with one Breton to add a bit of variety. There was a woman among them as well. They were all well armored, but few were armed, and there wasn't a travel pack among them. And more than one openly wore a pendant of Hrothgar.

In the midst of these observations, Sharah paid particular attention to how they moved. They had an animalistic quality to their steps. A natural predatory gait. It was variously subtle between them, but undoubtedly present in each. Particularly in those who were more wrought with emotion. That one with the snarled up expression was practically prowling.

Sharah waited until they had properly entered the camp's perimeter before rising from her seat to approach. As she made her way toward the newcomers, she passed reassuring words and touches to those of her guildmates who were more tense. Even while she was still amidst the bulk of her comrades, Sharah was singled out.

"You!" the snarling one roared his nostrils flaring, "You're the one who killed him. His blood is on your hands!"

He made to leap forward, but two of his companions clapped their arms around his shoulders to restrain him. And Sharah saw his eye color change to amber in the firelight.

She stepped to the front of her guildmates despite Brag and Rienna trying to stay in front of her, "And my blood was on his. Or did you choose to ignore that part?" By the way he bristled, they'd probably found the body and knew precisely what she'd done to him. Sharah looked from face to face, "Am I addressing the inner Circle of the Companions?"

One of those more in control responded, "Yes. And you're Sharah the Wolf, right?"

She nodded. So they'd come after all. And every one of them had that wild feel to them. Even if it was just a bit. Which made it easy enough to guess what made the inner Circle so special. Hafnir wasn't the only beast she was to deal with tonight, it seemed.

Sharah crossed her arms and met each of their eyes, showing not the slightest amount of fear, "Why are you here?"

The angry Nord strained against his captors, "To kill you for killing our shield-brother!"

A couple of weapons could be heard leaving their sheaths behind her, but Sharah merely blinked, "I wouldn't advise that. But that's not what I meant. I want to know why you left Whiterun and traveled to the border. I want to know why you're here."

From the back of the group, an older warrior stepped forward. His companions made the same protective attempts that Sharah's own had moments before. "We came to prevent Hafnir from attacking the Fighters Guild further, and bring him back to Whiterun. But we came too late, it seems."

Sharah scrutinized him discretely, "You're Bein Firestone? Their Harbinger?"

He nodded.

"We need to talk. If you would join us at the fire, this matter should be settled to a 't' before anyone leaves this place." She glanced at the Companion still being restrained, "Provided we can all be civil."

Firestone glanced back over his shoulder, "Stay with Barkas." Then back to her, "Lead the way."

The three Companions, their Harbinger among them, followed Sharah to the fire while that Barkas and his comrades turned guards remained at the edge of camp. The Skyrim warriors were hardly concerned that they were surrounded by the Fighters Guild. Sharah knew well why, but kept it to herself. There was no reason to make her comrades any more jumpy than they already were. Especially given the wide birth and focus they paid to the Companions, particularly their Harbinger. Like something about the Companions was setting off the fight or flight instinct in her guildmates.

The talk went well, considering. There was passage of blame and acceptance of guilt from both sides. The Companions were all deeply angry that she had killed their shield-brother, no matter the circumstances. But Sharah could feel Bein Firestone's soul bending guilt over having given Hafnir the freedom to do what they did. Sharah herself accepted fully that she should never have come up here in anger, but felt justified in defending her guild against a seemingly unrelenting threat. But they all understood and respected the other side, even if they didn't like it. So the talk went well…considering.

The outcome was simple: things go back to the way they were before. There was no way to give back or take back what had been done. And with equal blame on both sides, there would be no way to make things right again. So they agreed to let things stand as they were. The border of the provinces would serve as the border between their respective territories, and the groups would leave this camp and not mingle again. Which proved just fine with both sides.

The meeting concluded with the exchanging of tokens. Some old Nordic tradition that Firestone said would help cement what had been decided. Which was a good idea considering that Companion, Barkas, was still seething out on the edge of the camp. Firestone gave to her a large tooth on a leather thong that was carved with runes and symbols she didn't recognize. It didn't look like any tooth she'd ever seen. Except perhaps those that had gone into her shoulder this afternoon.

Sharah had to think a moment, then detached and handed the Harbinger the wolf head medallion from her belt. The symbol of her namesake. In truth, it wasn't really a fair trade. The tooth seemed to have sentimental value to the man, while she'd been considering ditching the medallion for the last week or so, having grown uncomfortable with the amount of light it reflected.

The formalities done and the agreement settled, both bands of warriors took up residence on different sides of the camp. Small wonder, really. Everyone had been tense the entire meeting. And this agreement only slightly calmed the bulk of those present. Things would get better when the groups had a mountain range between them. Until that time though, Sharah stayed up to keep an eye on things. Just in case.

The Companions were not resting. They were gathering wood, dragging and carrying in hunks of lumber that any normal person would likely struggle with. But then again, they weren't normal, were they. A few constructed what looked like funeral pyres. Nords had a thing about burning their dead instead of burying them. Another knelt beside the bodies of their fallen comrades, speaking some final blessing or other. Sharah found it quite interesting to watch. She didn't hide her attention, but she did keep a respectful distance from their work. As the slayer of their shield-brother, she would not be welcomed, even to help.

As the Redguard watched, she heard the Harbinger approach from off to her left. He came to a stop beside her, watching his Companions prepare the pyres for a few moments in silence. Then he cleared his throat, "The full moon comes next week."

Sharah glanced up at the sky, "Yes, I suppose it will." The Companions were building up the pyres now. Actually it was one big one. A communal send-off.

Another few quiet moments passed before he spoke again, "The Circle will not like it. But believe you should return with us to Skyrim."

She replied flatly, "I'm not leaving my guild. And certainly not for the Companions. Where is this coming from? Didn't we just agree our groups should part ways?"

He looked down at her, "You will soon be a danger to both them and yourself. It is better that you be among the Circle during your first change than anywhere else. We can keep you contained."

Sharah cocked her head back, "Excuse me? What change? What are you talking about?"

"You tasted Hafnir's blood. I saw the bite mark upon his paw. The Beast Blood is carried in our veins and Hircine's gift is passed by that same blood. It doesn't matter what you threw up. There is still trace enough within you to bring about the change. You _are_ going to become a werewolf, and it _will_ happen on the night of the next full moon. Whatever you have done, whatever our differences, this makes you one of us. And if you do not come with us, you are going to do great harm to those around you when it happens."

Beast Blood? She'd figured their lycanthropy was passed the other way around: bite from a werewolf. But perhaps that was solely vampires. So swallowing that bit of blood was going to turn her into a beast? She grumbled in her throat. Like she didn't have enough troubles with her guild and Blackwood, not to mention recovering from that fight, Hircine's little rip routine not the least of her pains…

Hircine! He had torn through her stomach without actually tearing through it. He had made her throw up. And then there was his comment afterward. 'Waste of a hunter'. Had he been doing more than just punishing and insulting her?

"I appreciate the concern. But I'm not going to turn into one of you. I'm pretty sure Hircine…removed his 'gift' shortly after I slew Hafnir," Sharah replied.

Bein Firestone turned to face her completely, "You _have_ seen Hircine."

She nodded, and resisted feeling again for her stomach to check that it was whole. It had really felt like the Daedra torn her innards from her. The ghost of the sensation was going to stick with her for days, if not weeks.

"But are you certain he took the Beast Blood from you? Hircine's ways are not so well understood. And he does not give up his hunters easily."

"Well, that just secures it. He actually called me a 'waste of a hunter'."

The Harbinger looked grimly at her, "Are you so certain that is what happened? Are you willing to risk the safety of those around you should you go through the change?"

Sharah remembered the feeling in the pit of her stomach from before Hircine. The fire that clawed within her belly, the feverish waves of heat and cramps, the instinctive inclination that these feelings would make her more powerful and dangerous. And how all of this vanished after she'd emptied her stomach onto the earth. "Yes. I am certain."

They stood in silence while the moments ticked by. He'd come to extend a genuinely difficult offer. He had been willing to take her into his pack despite the fact that she'd killed his shield-brother, only to have the offer turn out unnecessary. Sharah understood how difficult it would have been to have her around. And yet he'd still been willing to, for the sake of the people she might hurt. And perhaps for her sake as well. Sharah hoped she hadn't just tossed it in his face too brusquely.

But her guild needed her here. And she was certain this change wasn't going to happen to her.

"I believed you had seen Hircine. I carry the blessing of his totem. I am granted a great presence that makes others fear me without knowing the reason. The myth says only those who have seen Hircine himself may go unaffected. And only you have not shrunk from me."

So Hircine's totem had been what was making her guildmates antsy. The Gods only knew how many of them would have broken fully if they'd known about the werewolf bit. Sharah replied, "Or perhaps I'm just not that easy to scare. I do appreciate you making the offer though. It couldn't have been easy. But, like I said, I'm not leaving my guild."

"There is something else…Our secret. There's no point in pretending you aren't fully aware of what we are."

"True," she agreed.

He bowed his head in agreement. "Take care of my token. I lost that tooth during the night of my first change and kept it since as a reminder of the danger of what I am."

Sharah lifted the sharp canine from her neck. Well it certainly didn't look like a bear tooth. Yes, it was more akin to the teeth that had gone into her shoulder this afternoon. "I will. Thank you again for keeping all this contained. I don't think either side would have benefited in the least from more fighting."

He gave a slight bow and returned to his Companions as they were laying the bodies upon the pyre. A few moments later and the entire thing was set ablaze. Every one of the Companions was illuminated by the firelight, the contours of their grim faces carved in distinct contrast by the flames. One of them recited a prayer aloud for the departed while they watched their comrades be consumed.

Sharah kept her distance, but remained watching. There was something about their burial methods. Perhaps it was better to be ash in the sky than set in a wooden box within the earth. It took up less space for one thing. And had a certain spiritual appeal.

Even attentive as she was to the ceremony, Sharah tracked movement in the shadows. Truth was, she had been expecting this. Even let her path wander from the center of camp and her guildmates' protection just to give him the shot. She figured it was better to let him come while she was ready than chance it happening when she wasn't looking.

The Companion hugged the treeline, the flashes of the bonfire catching his armor and setting off the amber in his eyes. Then he came at her in a rush and with a roar, practically on all fours. Sharah embraced the permafrost that was saturating her veins as he came. The world etched itself in crystal clarity for her. And the perfect calm and cold gave her what she needed. She wouldn't be able to manage a full fight in her condition.

As the Companion Barkas's feet came off the ground, Sharah maneuvered herself out of the way, letting him fly past. Her body protested even that movement. The Nord scrambled to his feet and yanked his blade free. The hand she'd been resting lightly on Umbra's hilt now closed around it. In the icy clarity, she judged exactly how she could draw the blade and sheath it down Barkas's throat if he leapt again.

But it proved unnecessary. Before Barkas could get another assault out, two blurred masses came catapulting through the air, tackling him with a _whoomp_. The three Companions went tumbling across the ground in a seething mass of armor and muscle. The enraged Barkas tried at all times to get free and come at her again. "Killer! Murderer!" Sharah saw his jaw distend and his teeth sharpen as he roared, "I'll kill you for this, murderer! Murderer!"

One of those who'd taken him down hauled Barkas up and tossed him away by the scruff of his neck, "Not here. We are not doing this here." His eyes, too, were flashing amber.

The woman Companion appeared and all three of them muscled Barkas into the treeline. Firestone and the other Nord Companion followed, the Harbinger trading a nod with Sharah before all disappearing into the trees.

A few of Sharah's guildmates came running, "Sharah, are you alright? We saw, but—"

"Everything's fine. Really. I was expecting it."

Ansigar's hand edged for her hammer, "Should we go after them? Make sure they don't come back."

Sharah shook her head, "They're working out some things. We are not going to interfere. And I expect them to come back. The pyre hasn't burned out yet. Just leave a guard shift up. I can promise you, that will be enough."

A roar broke the night quiet, coming from the direction the Companions had gone. And in the absolute silence that followed, yips and growls and sounds of struggle could be heard as well.

Jarik hesitated, "What…what is that?"

"Intra-Circle politics," Sharah replied. Then she turned to her guildmates and said, "Let me make this clear. I don't want anyone following after the Companions. They are not going to attack us, and we are not going to interfere with whatever they're doing. The guild stays within the camp. Got it?" She waited for visual agreement from those around her. "Good. Now I'm going to hit the sack. I'd recommend the rest of you do the same."

Sharah did as she'd said, pointedly ignoring the sounds from the wilderness. Although, the majority of her guildmates wouldn't be able to. Their minds were painting fearful pictures of what was happening out there. Before she fell asleep, Sharah wondered briefly how they'd compare to the real thing.

XXX

Getting back to Bruma took all day, even though the Guild left early as possible. There was no further incident with the Companions after Barkas's attempt, and they all left the camp better off overall. But by the time the Fighters Guild returned to Bruma, Sharah was eager to leave again. Their business with the Companions might be over, but she was still filled with purpose and all her thoughts were turned toward her guild.

They were teetering. It was time someone made an effort to right it again. And since Vilena had yet to send a letter or courier or guildmember or anything to demand an explanation of what had happened up here, chances were she never would. Which meant that, as much as Sharah hated to think it, she couldn't depend on her Guildmaster. So until someone else stepped up to take the reins, Sharah decided she would serve as a spearhead for this movement. She had to if the guild was to survive.

Things in Bruma would be alright. With the Companions gone from Cyrodiil and the Blackwood Company far to the south and word of the Guild's victory a favorite topic among civilians, Sharah saw the hall's position as secure. But she didn't know if the other halls were faring so well. That was the next step. She'd travel amongst the guildhalls again, this time by intent more than involuntary drive. If those of the Bruma guildhall would follow her, perhaps others would as well. She'd make her way around the guildhalls and find a way to strengthen them, or at least encourage them to take steps on their own. She had to do something.

But Sharah would avoid Chorrol for a while longer. Even if Vilena would not lead her guild, she'd likely have enough strength left in her to throw Sharah out completely. And that would do no one any good.

Sharah remained in Bruma only long enough for her armor to be repaired by the local blacksmith and for Elidor to heal enough to travel. During which she pointedly ignored her own pain and stiffness, which seemed to work as well as actually healing. Her guildmates didn't make mention of her methods at least. It was four days. Four days of itch and eagerness before Sharah and the Cheydinhal trio were out on the road and headed south.

She had every intention of putting her boot to the guild's flank. But how she did it would depend entirely on how she was received in Cheydinhal. If she could handle Burz gro-Khash, she could handle the rest of the guild just fine. And would tell her for certain if the 'lead by example' method would work.

Sharah and the trio traveled slower than usual for the sake of Elidor's head injury and her own stiff limbs. They arrived ten days after leaving Bruma, instead of the usual week. The time on the road, even traveling as slow as they were, took the edge off of Sharah's Ra Gada urge. And the moment they were within Cheydinhal's walls, Sharah's thoughts started bubbling over as to what the guild might be able to do to inspire confidence in the local populous. It had worked in Bruma, so it seemed the best way to head off the Blackwood Company's influence. And better that she come to Burz gro-Khash with some ideas in mind than show up empty handed.

The Orc guild head doubtless heard the lot of them come in the door because he was down the stairs just as Elidor and Brag had hit the bench with identical thuds. Aside from being Altmer and Orc respectively and their differing preference in blade and blunt, the two could have been twins for all their bulk and mannerisms. They were also both quick to regain their feet at the Burz's approach, Elidor just a few seconds slower than Brag. Rienna came to attention as well.

But Sharah had issues deciding. Her training told her to follow Rienna's stiffening of posture. But her mind's sense of authority from Bruma had set like mortar, and that side of her mind expected a report from him rather than the other way around. She sort of swayed between the two, ending up with her hip half-cocked to the side and her thumb hooked into her belt where her dagger used to hang whilst keeping her mouth shut.

The Orc's tusked upper lip twitched at her, "So you brought them back in one piece, huh?" He cast his usual glower at Elidor who was swaying only slightly, "Mostly in one piece anyway. I hope you appreciate me sending them. It hasn't been a picnic being short of members."

She didn't point out that the whole guild was running short of members. Sharah replied, "I do appreciate it. We couldn't have stood without them."

Burz grunted, "What happened to him? Didn't do any permanent damage, did you?" and he motioned to the bulked up Altmer.

Rienna reported, "Just a head injury. He'll be right as rain in another week or two."

The Orc grunted again, "Well maybe it'll finally teach you High Elves to duck low." He turned on Sharah, "And next time you want a trio, you'd better think twice before—" He got a look at her bicep and his grumbling cut off abruptly.

Sharah followed his eyes to her guild patch. She instinctively shifted to block his view by sporting her other arm for his vision, but the Orc apparently had seen enough. "Give me that," Burz demanded, pointing toward her patch, his usually good natured grumbling giving way to something more serious.

She hesitated and shifted to the balls of her feet on a defensive impulse. Had she just missed Vilena's response and punishment while on the road? The one that reduced her rank further. Or did Burz just think the original punishment wasn't enough and felt like adding his sting to her lashing? Azzan had already stripped her of three ranks on the guildmaster's orders. How many more was she to lose before things finally plateaued?

Burz didn't take her resistance well. He growled harshly and jammed his hand out, "Hand it over, Wolf."

There was a moment of heightened panic that she might lose her patch and guild for good. But…Burz hadn't immediately gone for her patch when she walked in… Her fingers responded slowly to her bidding, but ultimately detached the leather strap about her arm and held it and her patch out to Burz gro-Khash.

He snatched it and scowled at the swordsman symbol on the leather patch. Then stormed for the stair, snapping over his shoulder, "Upstairs, Wolf."

Sharah winced. This couldn't be good. She took a step forward only to be restrained by Rienna's hand on her arm. The Redguard met her eyes unflinching, "We'll still follow you, Wolf."

Sharah looked over the woman's shoulder to the rest of the present guild. Elidor and Brag shared the certainty of Rienna's look. Ohtimbar and Felrika didn't quite seem to understand what was happening here, but neither was particularly pleased by what gro-Khash had elected to do.

The Wolf forced up an emotional front, and shrugged, "It'll be fine. I figured it would get worse before it got better anyway. Don't let it trouble you."

From upstairs, Burz barked, "Wolf! Move it!"

Sharah gave her guildmates her best 'just another one of Burz's moods' expression, and followed the Orc upstairs. She didn't let on how aware she was of what was coming. Or the fact that it unnerved her to be losing rank with every action she took to help her guild. But, again, at least Burz hadn't demanded her patch the moment he'd seen her. So he wasn't going to expel her from the guild completely, right? Right?

Burz didn't so much have an office as a desk that he shoved against the side of the communal sleeping chamber. He didn't take to separating himself from the other members like most guild heads. He bedded down, slept and trained right along with them. And right now he was ripping through the drawers fiercely and grumbling words to himself that she couldn't quite make out. Sharah heard ripping of thread as he removed her patch and hoped he wasn't damaging the strap too much in his angry quest for her new rank. Sharah closed her eyes to center herself, then stood tall. She'd take what was coming without complaint, and move forward. No matter what happened, she couldn't let this keep her from her plans to help keep her guild going.

Burz made an exclamatory sound of success and drew his prize from the drawer he'd been wading through. It was an agonizing handful of seconds as he fixed the patch in place before turning and thrusting it through the air toward her. Sharah caught her strap to her chest, then went about checking it for any damage he'd inflicted on the thing…then had to look again.

"Burz…what is this?"

He growled, "It's your guild patch. I thought that was obvious."

Sharah again looked down at the leather strap in her hand, "But…this isn't…" The patch in her hand was not of any rank she'd held before. In fact, she'd only ever seen this patch on one person: the Guild second. This was Oreyn's rank. His old one. This was the patch of the guild's Champion. Sharah looked up again, "Burz, I don't think I can…Vilena demoted me."

The Orc snorted, "Yeah, I got the message. Load of horse shit too, as far as orders go. I can't believe Azzan even had the balls to follow through with it. Weakling that he is, I never took him for the rolling over type. You wouldn't have seen me pull that kind of crap."

Sharah offered the patch back to him, "Burz, I can't take this. If Vilena hears about it she'll can you for sure."

"And she can kiss my green ass before I leave. That patch is yours. And you're gonna wear it and like it. It wasn't as if it wasn't coming to you anyway." Sharah looked at him curiously and Burz gro-Khash grunted, "You honestly didn't figure it out? By the Nine, maybe he was wrong to pick you after all."

Sharah's frustration finally broke the surface, "Burz, I know you love complaining. But for once would you cut to the end and spit it out!"

He did so. "Oreyn was training you to replace him." Well if that didn't mute her quick enough. "Oreyn didn't really need help. He could probably run the whole guild with both eyes shut and his mace hand tied behind his back. Oreyn picked you to take his place. He was training you to be Guild-second, same as he was training Viranus to be Guildmaster I should think. I knew it. All the other guild heads knew it. Plenty of members knew it. Or should have. That patch was gonna be on your arm eventually, so strap it on already."

She gripped the strap until her fingertips went numb. That couldn't be it. She'd been Oreyn's assistant. His hard hand. The one who did his grunt work…The one who was learning guild paperwork. The one he sent to deal with situations in every corner of the province. The one he called on to watch his back. The one he'd been beginning to teach contract assignment to. Divines and Daedra, why hadn't she seen it? But why her? She was just…her. Nothing special. Just an overactive, eager to help woman, barely out of her girl-hood as far as maturity went. What had distinguished her?

Sharah ran a finger over the patch. And then there was what this would mean. Vilena wasn't leading. Oreyn had been expelled. If she accepted this patch, Sharah would officially rank all but the Guildmaster. Even the guild heads. And it wasn't like there was much authority coming out of Chorrol. That business in Bruma seemed to imply Sharah had some way about her that emanated authority. This patch would officially bid that the guild look to her. She would effectively…lead the guild. That was a frightening thought when set so clearly on her path.

Up in Bruma, leading her guildmates against the Companions, Sharah had assumed the leading was temporary. That she would just urge the movement forward. Or that someone else would step up and take the reins. Vilena, or a guild member who was more experienced or qualified than she was. Gods, she hadn't even been in the guild for a full five years and here she was being handed the guild's leadership role.

The floor beneath her seemed to sway slightly. This wasn't right. She…she was too young. She wasn't ready. Sure, Sharah wanted to help her guild. Help bring it back. But this felt like too much. Like the guild's entire fate was being dropped squarely on her shoulders, and all at once.

Burz gro-Khash snapped her back to the world, "Well, Wolf? You gonna put that on or not?"

Well, that was the question, wasn't it? She didn't want to. She _really_ didn't want to. There was just so much pressure. But there wasn't anyone else, was there? And Oreyn had to know what he'd been doing. Sharah forced herself to breath. A rule to live by: never doubt Oreyn. Even now when it all seemed like more than she could handle…her trust in Oreyn gave her some solid ground.

Sharah willed her fingers to their task. And although they didn't seem to shake, she still had a tough time getting the strap back onto her arm. Like she was using a handful of sausages instead of her fingers. Eventually the patch was nestled in its accustomed place about her arm. But it still bordered on unnerving to think that she now bore Oreyn's rank.

Her extended silence was noticed. "Something wrong, Wolf?"

"No…well…" _Yes. I don't know if I'm ready to do what you're asking. I don't know if I can lead a guild._ Sharah didn't dare say any of that out loud. Instead, she threw together an excuse. "Um…usually promotions come after a contract. That's all."

Burz gro-Khash snorted. "You and Oreyn. Sticklers for the book, both of you." Not really. She figured he'd brush off her excuse, or possibly call her bluff. Instead he jerked his elbow toward the desk, "So pick something. We've still got contracts coming in. You really want to keep it all official, then pick something and have done. It's not like I'll be giving you any orders now."

Sharah flexed her bicep, feeling the strap pull taut over her skin, "Yeah, I'll…pick something."

"But don't be too long about it. There's work to be done." As if he knew he wasn't going to get much more conversation out of her, Burz headed back downstairs to perform his version of a bedside manner for the home-comers.

Once she was alone, Sharah felt the ground sway again. Right. There was work to do. But it shouldn't be her doing it. It should be Burz, or Azzan, or Ragar, or…Dammit, what was wrong with Vilena?! What in Oblivion was she doing that left the fate of the guild to a twenty three year old who, after that blood-lust routine up north, was apparently part psychopath? It shouldn't be her. It should be someone else that everyone looked to. Anyone else!

Snap out of it!

Sharah smacked her cheeks roughly and dropped down onto a chair. She had to pull herself together. Sharah leaned over and took a few deep breaths, bracing herself against her knees. She had to get her head together, and fast. She wasn't some new boot after all. She'd been through more than some people experienced in a lifetime. She'd met Daedric princes. She'd fought more enemies than she could count, and survived. She'd stolen an Elder Scroll from the Imperial Palace, for goodness sake.

But that didn't necessarily mean she was ready for the guild to look to her. Helping to bring the guild back to strength was one thing. Leading the Bruma guildhall members against the Companions had been another. But leading an entire guild…It didn't feel right that it should be her. Not in the least. She couldn't see herself measuring up to Oreyn or to what Vilena had been. And yet she was their choice. The Bruma hall had chosen to follow her in the time of crisis. Burz had chosen to follow her just now. But Sharah would be damned if she knew why they did it.

She'd give up the responsibility if there was another option. But there wasn't, was there? Despite everything, it came down to her or no one. So there was no discussion to be had. Sharah had to do it. The fighter forced her spine erect and shoved her chin into the air. She had to be the strength of the guild. And if she didn't feel up to it, then she had to fake it. And hard. Fake it until everyone believed it was real. Even Sharah herself.

XXX

"They went down to investigate the strange lights down by the water. We told them not to. But they went anyway and never came back. We thought they might have gotten lost down in the ravines. And anyone who's gone looking for them after dark hasn't come back either."

The citizens of Harlun's Watch had congregated at the center of their settlement to speak with those they had hired to help them find their missing friends. A Nordic woman and a lean Altmer stood at attention behind their leader, a petite young Redguard woman who, none the less, exuded strength and authority.

She nodded as she listened, "The best place to find your friends is to go where they went. Where did you first see those lights?"

"Down by the water," their Dunmer spokeswoman said, "Near Swampy Cave, I think. But the lights were only there at night. We never saw them during the day."

"Hm. Still, we'll go down and take a look."

"Thank you. We're so grateful that you came."

The Redguard gave a slight bow, "Whatever we find, we'll be able to handle it. After all, we're Fighters Guild." And as she turned away, she added softly to herself, "And we're not going anywhere."

**If you liked it review, favorite, follow, submit OC's, tell your friends, throw a web-party, run around screaming like a crazy person...I don't know. Go nuts. I am. 8*  
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	33. Taking First Blackwood Blood

**Alriiiiiiiiight! Another chapter up. Yup, the muse is definitely back. It's a little long. I honestly don't know if that will be the norm now, but if you've stuck with me for this long then I think that means you can handle it.**

**We're closing in on the end of Fighters Guild questline. So, enjoy some proper Blackwood-butt-whoop.**

_Sharah approached the base of the high reaching Cheydinhal cliffs in the dark of night. No, it wasn't night. Just dark. Very dark. And the world that she could see was lit in shades of red. Sharah looked down at the damp sand beneath her feet. It could be water lit in red shades. Or it could easily have been blood lapping at the shore._

_Before her was the entrance to Swampy Cave. And like the first time she'd been here, Sharah thought '_what a perfect place this would be to hide_'. Hidden in the tangle of cliffs and ravines and waterways that dominated the riverheads south of Cheydinhal, with the cave itself practically barricaded by a tangle of plant life and water-logged beaches. _

_But there were no will-of-the-wisps here this time. Just quiet and emptiness. The only sound that could be heard was an expectant snorting from behind her. But Sharah didn't turn to locate the source. Instead, she lifted her hand to the hilt of a strange dagger on her hip. The hilt was unfamiliar to her, but comforting for whatever reason. She let the blade settle into the palm of her hand, then stepped forward and entered the cave's entrance. _

_Inside, there were no trolls this time. But the cave was not empty. From the shades of red, several people stepped into her sight. She didn't recognize them, but in this dream they were deeply familiar to her. They looked expectant and fearful. The hilt in her hand was cold and solid, and she knew the blade was sharp and deadly. She looked at the people and told them, "You are dead."_

XXX

Sharah opened her eyes groggily, blinking twice, then burrowing deeper into her pillow. Stupid will-of-the-wisps. Took the energy out of her worse than any ghost. And she'd need another couple days of good sleep to bounce back. She didn't even want to know how Ohtimbar and Felrika felt. They'd taken the brunt of the energy-draining before Umbra did away with the little nightmare clouds. They had been lucky.

She gave herself another couple minutes of rest. But when it became clear that Sharah wasn't getting back to sleep, she kicked back her blankets and dragged herself vertical. It could have been worse. She could have woken up with wounds. But the trolls in Swampy Cave had gotten lazy feeding off the will-of-the-wisp leftovers. Sharah growled. Trolls. They all seemed intent on giving her ever reason to despise their species.

That had been a hell of a deadly combination. Will-of-the-wisps to drain you of energy until you couldn't even stand up, then trolls to kill and eat what remained behind. No wonder she and her guildmates had found all those villagers dead. Without a destruction spell or enchanted weapon they hadn't stood a chance. Even the Fighters had been lucky to have Umbra serving as both a dousing-rod to find the invisible wisps, and a wet rag to drain them until there was nothing to hold their dust in the air.

Then Sharah and her guildmates not only delivered news of the villagers' fates back to Harlun's Watch, but also assisted in the retrieval of the bodies. Even under the tragic conditions, the Guild left an excellent impression by going the extra mile for the contract. And with the settlement's close proximity to Cheydinhal, the good press would quickly spread to the city giving the Guild just the boost Sharah had been looking for.

Bruma. Cheydinhal. This was going well. The Guild had momentum. And as their de facto leader, Sharah needed to keep it going. As Sharah sat on her bed, the question was: what next? She forced herself up and through the morning routine, her thoughts churning the entire way.

Once clean and dressed, Sharah knew she had to settle down and make plans before she went leaping further into action. The first step: secure the Guild. Particularly in cities where they had a presence and Blackwood did not. With Bruma and Cheydinhal taken care of, that meant Skingrad and Kvatch and Anvil. Chorrol should have been on the list as well, but Sharah wasn't going to try directing the Guild immediately under Vilena's nose.

Although Sharah did wish she had Oreyn close by to give her advice. There was so much that was happening and could still happen. And Sharah was still so new to all this…

Enough! She refused to dwell on her shortcomings. Back to the plans.

Once the Guild had its legs properly planted, she'd head to Bravil. Somehow she'd win the people back from Blackwood there. Those plans were still at the development stage. Perhaps she'd bring some other well-known members to give them a greater presence. She might even enlist the Thieves Guild's help. Perhaps use them to create a problem for the Fighters Guild to solve. Sharah wasn't above being duplicitous.

And finally, once the rest of the province was well in hand, she would go to Leyawiin and deal with Blackwood at its source.

But while she was here, Sharah wanted to do a run-through of the hall's recent paperwork. Something she should have done in Bruma, but hadn't for reasons of distraction. If she was supposed to lead the Guild, then she needed to keep a closer eye on the goings on. So Sharah ended up at Burz's desk for most of the next several days.

For Cheydinhal, there had been minimal member loss. There were fewer contracts than she would have liked, but the number was holding steady. Sharah noted that Burz had received a high profile contract a month and a half ago. Per protocol, he'd sent it to headquarters and awaited further instruction. After two weeks of no reply, the guild head had taken the initiative and had the contract completed by a local member. Smart move on his part. But the other guild heads might not be so willing to flex their individual authority. And, for now, that needed to change. So Sharah drafted a letter.

_**Let all guild heads be advised, copies of any contracts or incidents requiring assistance should be sent to the Fighters Guild headquarters in Chorrol and the Fighters Guildhalls in all adjacent cities. Guild heads should make an effort to assist all such requests received as they are able.**_

_**Also be aware that I will be making rounds through the province to provide support for the halls and improve Guild morale.**_

_**-Sharah the Wolf, Fighters Guild Champion.**_

Well that was certainly letting the cat go flying out of the bag with limbs splayed and fur fluffed. Announcing her rank, telling them she was taking leadership of the guild, and that they needed to seek help more from within the guild than from their Guildmaster. It was a bold first move on her part. But it was a lot better than what they'd been getting so far.

Sharah was working on the third copy when Burz gro-Khash came into the room. When she looked up, he offered her a sealed envelope, "From Chorrol."

She hesitated. Had Vilena finally caught up with her? And why was that always her first thought, even though the woman was consistently a no-show in all regards? Still, perhaps she should ignore it. Leave for Skingrad and just pretend she missed its arrival.

Burz gro-Khash, as if reading her train of thought, added, "Doesn't have the guild seal on it. And it looks like Oreyn's handwriting."

She snatched the envelope from him immediately. He was right. 'Sharah the Wolf' was written on the front in Oreyn's brusque script. She tore it open and read the message inside.

_**Wolf, we need to meet. Come to Chorrol immediately.**_

_**-Oreyn**_

Sharah looked down at the brief summons. Gods, it was fantastic to hear from her old superior. Even if this message gave her exactly no information as to what this was about. Then again, that was typical Oreyn. He could be so vague on paper.

Burz was still waiting, if impatiently. With almost anyone else, she would have kept this to her herself, not wanting to compromise the rule-focused members. Working with ejected members was frowned upon. And Oreyn's expulsion had been personal for all involved. But the Orc had already shown he was more devoted to the Guild than to Guild protocol. So this communication wouldn't phase him. Especially since it was Oreyn.

"He wants me to come to Chorrol and see him."

Burz asked, "He say why?"

"Nope."

"You going?"

"Of course," she replied, tapping absently at the letter she'd been copying. "I need to finish these. Then I'll pack up and head out. He made it sound urgent."

"Then I'll do the paperwork."

She accepted the help readily, "Ok. Six copies of this letter. Address them to the guild heads. They're going to every guildhall except Chorrol. And add a 'soon' to that last bit. There's no telling what Oreyn wants or how long it will take. I'll sign them when you're done."

As Sharah packed hurriedly, she wondered what Oreyn had been doing these last few months. He probably hadn't been just sitting around. But no one in the Guild had made any mention of hearing from him. By all accounts, this was his first correspondence since his expulsion. And it was just to her. Which left Sharah wondering what this was about.

She'd find out soon enough. She just had to finish here, sign those letters, and pick up some supplies from the trader's. Then, on to Chorrol.

XXX

"I would feel better doing this after dark," a slim Argonian grumbled over the sacks he was hefting. "We could convince one trader to stay open late once a month for us, couldn't we?"

A short Breton, who kept his hood drawn over his face despite the cloud cover, remarked, "Doing so would be unnecessarily secretive. A quality we needn't place in anyone's mind if it can be avoided. Besides, I have more reason to complain than you have, yet you hear not a word from me."

"Yeah, so quit your belly-achin'. I'm the one doing all the heavy liftin' here, anyway," said the Orc who was with them.

"And we are most fortunate for that, Gogron. Thank you."

"Anything for my family," the Orc grinned, easily hefting a large crate onto their cart.

A blonde, round-faced young Imperial woman bolted out of the trader's shop door and raced around back to where the three men were loading their goods. "Guess what? Guess what?!" she shrieked. "You're never going to guess who's inside right now." She barreled on to the answer without giving them a chance to actually guess, "Our new sister! Sharah the Wolf!" The woman bounced up and down a couple times, clapping excitedly, "I'm going back inside to say 'hello'."

The hooded Breton caught her arm before she could follow through, "No, you are not, Antoinetta. In case you have forgotten, she had been shaded."

Antoinetta pleaded, "That doesn't mean I can't say 'hello'.

The man kept his grip and urged her toward the supplies that still needed loading, "Actually, yes it does. Shaded means no contact whatsoever."

The woman whined, "But we didn't even get to meet her first."

The orc, Gogron, thudded another crate into the cart, ignoring the 'careful, please' from the hooded man. "I like her."

"Why?" the Argonian asked.

"She massacred a whole slew of Companions up north. Gotta love a girl with that kind of enthusiasm."

"Hm…I'm not so sure," his reptilian brother replied, "M'raaj-dar said she killed a close friend of his from the Leyawiin Sanctuary."

The hooded man said, "It was not she how slew him. And, as I understand it, there were conflicting priorities involved. A mistake that can be forgiven in light of the recentness of her recruitment. Once she has paid the Void Price, that is. Personally, I am more impressed that she utilized the Fighters Guild in that 'massacre'. Hopefully she is aware that souls for the Void Price must be slain by one's own hand."

Gogron grumbled, "Don't know why she didn't just kill 'em all herself. More fun that way."

"We do not all have the strength of a dozen men, Gogron."

The Argonian rubbed at his scales, "Wait…so she's Fighters Guild _and_ Dark Brotherhood? Does that even make sense?"

The hooded Breton was distracted from answering by the bag in his hand, the contents of which proved a mystery to him, "What is this?"

The woman, Antoinetta, squeaked and snatched it from him, "Oh yay! They finally came!"

"What came? What are they?" the Argonian asked.

"Cactus fruits from Hammerfell."

"And what, pray tell, are they doing amongst our supplies?"

She huffed, "They're the secret ingredient for dinner tomorrow night."

A groan issued from beneath the hood, "Tell me you will keep my allergy in mind this time."

"But garlic makes everything taste better!" Antoinetta insisted.

"That's a 'no'," the Argonian translated.

The Orc took hold of the cart's handles and set off dragging a load that the average horse would have trouble with, and the four of them walked a path that would ultimately end at a seemingly long abandoned home along the city's west wall. They were out of sight before Sharah the Wolf came outside and headed in the opposite direction, toward the east gate and out of the city.

XXX

Modryn Oreyn answered his door promptly following Sharah's knock. The sight of him was a relief after all this time. "Hello, Oreyn," Sharah said, smiling, "It's been a while."

"Yes, it has," he replied slowly, "Would you like to come in?"

She nodded in reply and stepped over the threshold.

Once he'd closed the door Oreyn asked, "You want something to drink?" He didn't seem nearly as urgent as his note had implied.

"Just water would be fine," she answered.

While he went about it, Sharah surveyed his home. Nothing seemed changed, except… "This is new," Sharah said, walking over to inspect the helm atop his cabinet. It seemed to have been shaped from the skull of a bear.

"It's the helm of Oreyn Bearclaw. My grandfather. The one who…" He had to swallow before continuing, "The one how wronged an Orc and brought Malacath's wrath down on my kin. I'm not sure how I feel about having it under my roof."

Sharah ran a thumb over the ridge of the brow, "Where did you find it?"

"I didn't," he replied, coming to her with a glass, "Someone from my homeland tracked me down to return I to me. Who would've thought I would meet the Nerevarine all the way over here in Cyrodiil…"

She looked at him curiously, "Nerevarine?"

"Never mind," Oreyn said quickly, then went searching for a new topic of discussion and saw her bicep, "Champion, huh?"

Sharah glanced down at her patch and then shrugged, "Burz gro-Khash's doing." She paused moment, then said, "He said it was coming to me eventually anyway."

Oreyn sighed, "Seems you can keep some secrets in this guild. And some you can't. I didn't mean for it to happen so soon."

"So what _did_ you mean to happen?" she asked. He took a drink from his wine goblet instead of answering, so she pressed, "I want to know, Oreyn. I've caught on to some of your maneuvering. But I want you to tell me about this."

He turned from the helm and went to sit down at the table, "I meant to retire. And take Vilena with me I thought she'd agree if it weren't just her leaving. I meant to retire with Vilena and leave the Guild to you and Viranus. I knew he'd make a good Guildmaster, and that you'd watch his back. He wasn't ready yet. And, frankly, neither were you. But then Forsaken Mine happened and my plans didn't much matter anymore."

"It happens," Sharah said sadly. "But then you make new plans. You can't just sit down and wallow in the remnants. You have to move forward."

"And that's what you've been doing?"

Sharah cocked a smile at him, "You mean you _haven't_ been keeping an eye on me?"

The Dunmer replied, "I never said that. But I want you to tell me about it."

She chuckled and went to sit down across from him. "I admit, I did my share of wallowing. The attack on the Bruma hall gave me reason to snap out of it." Or just plain snap as the case had been. "Once the Bruma hall was secure, I went to Cheydinhal. Used a contract to secure some good press and give the guild a popularity boost. I also sent out messages to all the guildhalls. Well…except here. It pretty much said the halls had to keep themselves and each other going. And that I'd be coming around to help."

Now Oreyn was actually smiling, "Did you, now? So you've made some plans of your own."

"Some." Sharah stood up, suddenly feeling driven to move, and continued, "I'm going to Skingrad, Kvatch, and Anvil next, to give the people a reason to have faith in the Fighters Guild. Then Bravil until we've beaten Blackwood out of town. Then Leyawiin to beat them out of the province."

She stopped pacing and said more slowly, "You're right though, Oreyn. I'm not ready for this. Whatever everyone has figured from what you or I have done, I'm not ready to do this. At least not on my own. I have as good a chance of bringing the guild down around our ears as Vilena." Sharah looked at him gravely, "I need help."

"And you have it. Just because I'm out, doesn't mean I'm done," he replied with his old Oreyn fire.

Sharah smiled, "You sure about that. 'Cause you've seemed rather subdued up until now."

Oreyn looked over at the helm of his grandfather and then growled at her, "A mer is entitled to some time for reordering his life, Wolf." He tapped the other side of the table, indicating she should sit. Once Sharah had, he said, "Those plans are all well and good. But I'm afraid you'll have to start closer to home. Blackwood's been on the move."

"What? Where? Which city?"

"No city yet," he replied, "But they're setting up for a full-fledged expansion north. I've found their base of operations in Glademist cave to the west, between here and Bruma. I think you found the remnants of their first attempt in Nonwyll Cavern. They had to regroup after we blew that Azani business out of the water. But now they're back with a vengeance. They've even sent one of their Argonian mages to oversee the expansion. His name's Ajum-Kajin. He's been at the cave for about a month."

Sharah asked, "How did you find out about all this?"

Oreyn smirked, "You think I've been sitting on my ass playing Kingdoms all this time?"

"Fair enough," she replied, "You have some plans of your own?"

The mer nodded, "And I could use some help with them. Not that there'd be anything official about them."

Sharah said, "You think I'm worried about officiality? I didn't even go to the guildhall before I came here." It was the first time. Normally, Sharah's first stop in town was the guildhall. But… "I'm pretty sure I still won't be well received by our Guildmaster," she said, tilting her glass around distractedly. Sharah looked back at him, "So what is the plan?"

"From what I've gathered, beneath Ri'Zakar and his lieutenant, the Black Marsh mages are the Company's big fish. If Ajum-Kajin is running things up here, that means he's well versed in the ways of the Company."

"Which means he'd be the perfect one to ask about what we're up against."

"Exactly," Oreyn said, "In particular, I want to know what their numbers are, where they're distributed, and what their secret is."

Sharah cocked her head, "Secret?"

Oreyn took a drink from his goblet, then said, "Blackwood Company is not some run of the mill mercenary group. I thought they were just preying on the guild's weakness. Now I'm not so sure. They're too effective for my taste. I think they have some sort of edge, and I want to know what."

"And you think he'll know all of it."

Oreyn looked grim and set, "I'm certain of it."

Sharah spoke carefully, "He's probably not going to want to share."

"I know. So we'll just have to… 'convince' him." Oreyn focused his steely gaze on her, "You have a problem with that sort of thing?"

Vision from Forsaken Mine were flitting through her mind, as well as everything attached. The wounds on her friends, made by civilized weapons. The dead Blackwood member. Blackwood Company had been in that mine. They'd brought the deaths of her friends, if they hadn't actually killed them themselves. The rage boiled up inside, the cold and dark flickered over her center, and Sharah's inner wolf thrummed with the desire to inflict pain and suffering at least equal to what she'd suffered. More likely exceeding it.

Sharah looked back at the Dunmer, "Not in the least." After a glance around Oreyn's house, she said, "But we shouldn't do it here. If he's uncooperative, it could get…noisy." And messy. Sharah could already see the blood stains covering the floor. It made her wolf hungry. "Unless we want the city guard to come running when he screams, we'll need to do this elsewhere."

Oreyn took stock of his dwelling, "We'll find something. And if nothing else, there are some empty caves around here that we can use."

They sat considering for a moment.

"Oreyn, I'd like to go for this mage on my own."

"Wolf, I don't think—"

"Oreyn, I know. You think I shouldn't go alone. That we should go together. But I'm better at stealth than anything else. And I'm more likely to get through unseen alone than I would having you with me." And with the icy cold rage already condensing in her veins, it was probably better that he not see her in action this time.

It was odd how she could become so calm and collected, and yet have all her sensibilities leap out the window. She wasn't thinking about her Guild just now, and what they would do if anything happened to her. The most predominant little voice in her head was that inner wolf. The one that, after she'd killed Hafnir, had voiced that she hadn't killed enough. And it wasn't driving her relentlessly toward insanity this time, either. Just voicing its opinion. Which was perhaps why Sharah was willing to follow the guidance.

Oreyn relented, possibly recognizing the unmovable force behind her eyes, "Alright, Wolf. You get the mage. I'll find somewhere for the interrogation before you get back. Just don't kill him. And don't die."

XXX

She was death. Death in the shadows. Death _from_ the shadows. Sharah had successfully dropped all her guild worries and issues back at Oreyn's place. It felt too good to go after one of those who had caused her a second heartbreak. Perhaps that was how Vilena had felt after she lost her sons. Too struck by the losses themselves to get furious at those responsible. But for Sharah, no longer.

With every step she took nearer to Glademist Cave, she was more certain that Blackwood had killed her guildmates in Forsaken Mine. As for the why, she didn't know. Didn't particularly care. All she cared about was returning the blow. So at the entrance to the cave where Blackwood had set up shop, Sharah let her inner wolf run the show, if on a leash.

Her intension was to knock out and hog-tie all the Blackwoods she could find until she came across the mage. But that plan didn't last long. Too much rage. But at least it was the numbingly cold kind that left her crystal clear and in control. The instant Sharah sighted the first set of Blackwood armor the memories in her friends had her going for his throat. She crept up behind the Blackwood mercenary and slit the front of his throat wide open. And it just picked up speed from there.

Death from the shadows. Through her progression deeper into the caverns, Sharah couldn't help but think that this felt right. Dwelling in darkness. Appearing from nowhere to strike, then vanishing again. Killing without mercy or remorse. Sending their souls to…to…She didn't have a word that fit where she thought they were going. But she felt right doing it.

But she shouldn't. This was exactly what Sharah had dealt with up north. Her sensibilities told her one thing, her soul another. Sharah had to be missing something. Something that would explain it all and set her straight. But what? The answer was not forthcoming, so Sharah drowned her confusion in Blackwood blood.

By the time Sharah reached her mark's personal little cavern she was grim and intensely focused. Enough so that she could resist the urge to slay him on the spot. Actually, Sharah was much more interested in making him scream.

Ajum-Kajin leapt up as she stepped inside. "Who are you?" he demanded, "How did you get in here? You're not supposed to be in here!"

The woman sprinted toward him. Ajum-Kajin got off one fire bolt that sailed inches over her shoulder before she tackled him and took the mage to the ground. Sharah rapidly flipped him onto his belly, making sure his face was in the dirt and not on one of the cushy carpets he had in here. She put a knee in his back and started dressing him like a goose to be roasted.

First she bound his elbows together behind his back. Then his wrists. Then she folded his fingers in and strapped them down. It was a precaution she'd learned from Gray during her apprenticeship with him. A good mage could work plenty of spells with just their fingers. So you had to strap them down or risk an unpleasant surprise later. She also tied a leather thong loosely from ankle to ankle. Enough length to walk, not enough to run.

When she was done, Sharah gave him a firm shove into the dirt. Then bent to his ear and warned, "You utter one little enchanted word and I'll gag you as well. We're taking a little trip, you and I. And at the end, we're going to have an important discussion. If you're cooperative, you might even live to see tomorrow." Then she hauled him to his feet and pushed the mage toward the passage, "Now walk."

Sharah found that she enjoyed seeing his expression become more and more shaken with each body they passed. Near the end, she finally remarked, "Perhaps you should have had better guards," she remarked, "A dozen Blackwoods and I have nary a scratch."

Now his eyes were wide and she had this brutal smile on her face. There was probably something deeply wrong with her that she was getting so much satisfaction from this. The journey back to Chorrol was slow, but she figured it would give Oreyn the extra time to find a suitable interrogation location.

The mage tried to run once. Tripped over his own feet at the fourth step, and went tumbling into a muddy ditch on the side of the road. Sharah walked over and yanked him back up and out onto the road again where she clocked him not quite, but almost, hard enough to break his jaw. After which he behaved himself. Although he did try every method he could think of to convince Sharah to release him. Threats, bribes, persuasion, out-right begging after a while. He really could have saved the breath for something more useful. Like silence. It would have been a better way to pass the time.

Sharah saw Chorrol's walls peak through the trees as the sun was drawing the last of its light behind the far horizon, then realized she and Oreyn hadn't decided on where they would met. That proved an unnecessary concern as Oreyn was waiting at the crossroads where the road split toward Chorrol's northern and southern gates.

The mer didn't speak. As Sharah brought her captive nearer he jerked his head southward and set off, leaving them to fall in behind. The three followed the road for a while. Before Weynon Priory came into sight, Oreyn turned and cut into the wilderness to the right. He led them west, following the city wall at about a quarter mile distance.

Sharah guessed where they were heading before they arrived at the old abandoned mining compound. The site was long dead, left behind by the Chorrol Mining Company when they moved on to better prospects. All that was left were some degrading wooden structures and a slowly collapsing cave where they had drawn product from the earth. It had once been a thriving mining operation. Now it was a Chorrol eye-sore that the city was perfectly willing to let the wood reclaim.

Ajum-Kajin stiffened his spine once they were in the cave, putting up a brave front. Sharah wondered how long that front would last. Oreyn paused briefly to light a lamp, then led them down into the caverns. The one he chose to stop in was deep enough to muffle any sounds the Argonian made, and large enough that the lamp light didn't quite reach the walls. Sharah approved. The dark would only enhance his fear once they got started.

Oreyn pointed to the chair set at the chamber's center, "Sit."

Ajum-Kajin drew himself up and snorted, "You don't scare me." But he did as instructed. And as he passed her, Sharah hooked his ankle restraint with her foot and let him trip and fall flat in the dirt.

While he struggled to right himself in spite his well bound arms, Sharah and Oreyn stepped aside to talk.

"You think you can handle this, Wolf?"

Sharah nodded, "Yes. Why? You not up to it?"

Oreyn glared at the mage. In his eyes Sharah saw the same mind-clogging rage that had been there with Blackheart when he'd passed the mission's reins to her. "I'm more likely to kill him," he admitted, "And we need him to talk."

She chuckled grimly, "Well, at least with the collapsed tunnels in here, we wouldn't have to go far to bury the body." She looked toward the mage as well and found him watching them. And his eyes told her that the chamber echoed just enough for him to catch what they were saying. She allowed the corners of her mouth to creep up, "Yeah, I can handle this."

"Then make him sing," Oreyn said, "And if he tries to run, I'll kill him myself."

Sharah turned fully to their guest. He'd definitely heard everything. Sharah reached down and unsheathed the simple iron dagger she'd bought before heading out for the extraction. Nothing fancy. Just a sharp blade. She took it out and approached him.

Ajum-Kajin saw the motion. "It's to be torture, then? Do your worst. I'll never talk!" Given the way his tail was twitching, that was all bravado.

Looking at him, Sharah saw that his restraints were holding firm and would for a while longer. She'd never tortured anyone before. But something told her she couldn't just start in. That torture of the mind was far more effective than that of the body. She looked around the chamber. The first step needed to be setting the mood.

She walked toward him, then angled slightly off to the side and took the lamp from its resting place. She adjusted its location to the ground beside a semi-broken crate. The obstruction blocked nearly a third of the light, and the torn wood cast wicked shards of shadow upon the walls. Then Sharah walked around the back of the chair, over to a support column and took a seat at its base.

The Argonian followed her every movement, whipping his head around to keep his eyes on her warily all the way to her final seat. There she pulled out her whetstone and began grinding the dagger's edge against it. Sharah herself was half hidden in shadow thanks to the combination of the crate and support column. But her hands were fully illuminated. Which meant the Argonian could see everything that she was doing with the blade.

The woman took her time, keeping her motions smooth and steady and all of her attention on the task in her hands. Round and round the dagger went. Small little concentric circles across the stone. And all the while, the gentle scraping was the only sound in the chamber. Occasionally Sharah tested the edge against her finger, letting the light flash from the bright dagger across Ajum-Kajin's face.

The Argonian didn't share her bounty of patience. He started fidgeting too soon, in her opinion. He looked from her to Oreyn, who was leaning against a mostly darkened wall watching everything. It wasn't long before the Argonian tried to test his bonds with unsuccessful discretion. But it was clear they didn't budge for him. And all that time the dagger scrapped against the stone. Then Sharah set the whetstone aside and pulled out her steeling rod, passing the sharp metal over the dull, further perfecting the edge.

At last, the silence became too much for the Argonian to take. "Are you trying to bore me to death?", he demanded of her. But the only response he received was the continued sound of metal on metal. Oreyn, for his part, remained as unmoving as a marble statue.

Sharah made sure their captive's eyes were on her when next she tested the edge across her thumb. Because after she'd scraped the dagger across the pad of her finger, she sank the edge into her flesh. The skin was breached and the bright red of her blood flowed free down her hand and down the flat of the blade, finally dropping to the ground in stark contrast to the illuminated cavern floor. It hurt, true, but she bore through it without making a sound because Ajum-Kajin's eyes were wide. After all, if she was willing to do that to herself, what in Oblivion was she going to do to him.

She finished her cut, then glanced sideways at him and smiled, "Not quite."

Then Sharah reached again for the whetstone and began a second pass of grinding with his full and complete attention on her. Blood still flowed freely from her wound. It went down into her palm and welled up over the stone she held there, providing crimson lubrication for the sharpening. Soon both the stone and blade were completely colored in red. And she could see him trembling.

When Sharah decided he'd had enough, she stood up and crossed the distance. The Argonian pressed himself back into the chair, but she passed him by to set the bloody whetstone on what remained of the top of the wooden crate. Then she carefully wiped the dagger clean until it shone once again.

Her finger was still bleeding though. As Sharah prepared to mend it, she had an idea. She turned to the Argonian and smiled. He started trembling again. Sharah squeezed her finger hard as she drew close, letting the blood well up and flow. A few drops hit the ground. Then she held out her hand and the next ones fell in his lap. Then further, and the blood dripped onto his snout and between his eyes and on the scales of his head. The Argonian twitched and wrenched around, whimpering and trying to avoid what was raining down upon him. The chamber echoed with a soft dark laughter, and Sharah realized it was coming from her.

She walked around him, continuing to drip her blood upon his scales while the Argonian caved rapidly. She didn't even get all the way around him before he shrieked, "Stop! Stop! What?! What do you want!?"

Sharah drew her hand away and made a show of licking at the wound. "Well, I'm not sure. You said you wouldn't talk to us. So I'm just passing the time."

She held her hand out over his head once more and he jerked away, nearly toppling the chair, "I'll talk! I'LL TALK!"

Sharah drew back, almost disappointed to have to stop. "Then start," she said, pulling out a bit of cloth and wrapping it around her finger, "How large is the Blackwood Company? How many of you are there?"

He jerked his head as some of the drops of blood trickled down his snout and toward his eyes, "We are a hundred strong now. And growing by the day." Now that she'd bound up her wound, he seemed to have gotten back some courage, "You're going to pay for this. When I don't report, they'll come looking. They'll find you and make you pay!"

"You sure about that?" she asked, "I was in Forsaken Mine, just outside of Leyawiin. I found one of your number dead inside. Right there by your headquarters, and the Blackwood Company couldn't even be bothered to bring him back in. They just left him to rot. If they won't even take care of their own near home, how hard do you really think they'll come looking for you?"

He hesitated, then declared, "You lie!"

She chuckled while walking around behind him. "Comfort yourself with delusions if you want. But I know they're not coming for you. Which means we have plenty of time together." He flinched when she ran a finger over his skull. Sharah traced a path between his spikes. "Now, let's see. Eanie, meanie, minie, moe…" She circled first one, then another, "…which will be the first to go."

Then Sharah close a hand around one of them and bent it, slowly…ever so slowly…Ajum-Kajin winced, then whimpered, then shrieked as the bone finally gave under the pressure and the spike snapped off completely. Sharah dangled the lost appendage before his eyes and then dropped it in his lap.

"One down. You've got a lot of these. I think we might be here a while. Good thing there's plenty of time." She traced her finger around the ragged broken place where the spike had been, then repeated her first circling path around the other spikes. "So, which will be lucky number two. This one perhaps? Or maybe this one? Or perhaps we'd better keep it even on both sides. We wouldn't want you walking out of here looking odd, would we."

Ajum-Kajin tried to rise, but she held him down and continued the torturous path of her fingers. She didn't even have to actually snap off his spikes to get the desired reaction. Drawing it out with the threat was enough. His own mind drew vibrant pictures of the potential pain as though it were happening.

Sharah bent to his ear, "This is how it's going to work. You're going to start talking. You're going to tell us about Blackwood. Where they're working from, how they're distributed, who they're answering to. And if you stop talking, I'm going to snap off another spike."

He was still gasping in pain. After a few breaths, Sharah took a grip on another of his skull ornaments and began bending it, "You can start any time now."

The Argonian started off right away. He rattled off distributions, recruiting methods, hierarchies. It seemed Blackwood had an angle in Bravil. Supplying skooma to the Count's son. Although apparently they didn't really need to. Most of those mercenary types in the Bravil guildhall had already been added to the Blackwood roster.

Oreyn had been right. Ajum-Kajin was a wealth of information. He lost two more spikes during the questioning, but those kept him talking. Especially while she traced around the dozen others he had crowning his head, a constant reminder of just how much damage was ahead of him if he remained silent. But there were two bits of detail that Sharah noticed him avoiding: the significance of the Argonian Mages, and the secret behind Blackwood's efficiency.

Sharah let her hands fall to his shoulders and squeezed firmly, "That's very good, Ajum. You're doing very well. Now, I have a specific question for you." She bent to his ear, "Tell me the secret to your strength."

The way he stiffened confirmed Oreyn's suspicions. There _was_ a secret behind Blackwood. And this mage knew what it was.

Sharah reached for another spike, "You're getting quiet again, Ajum. I've already demonstrated what happens when you're quiet."

He winced as another spike was twisted toward separation. But this secret proved more precious than anything he'd already given up. "No! Never! I would rather die. I will tell you nothing!"

She paused and relaxed her grip. But before he could shoot her an iron glare, Sharah had flipped him out of the chair and threw him onto the ground. She landed on top of him and pinned him with a knee in his back. "I'm getting sick and tired of you Blackwoods, and I'm through putting up with it. It's not even that you've threatened us. You've robbed us of both the Donton Heirs. You've tried to muscle us out of places we've served well in for decades. But more than that," she reached up and grabbed the dagger from atop the crate, "You've taken my family from me!"

The icy cold rage was fully upon her now. Every shadow in the room was enhanced, every sound and stirring of life was chiseled into her senses, and her blood flowed like a high mountain-stream, icy cold through her veins. And her wrath was focused entirely upon the creature beneath her hands. "Understand this, mage. I came here with nothing. Truly, nothing. The Fighters Guild is all I have. My guildmates were my family. And your Company killed them. You left them in that mine to bleed out and die! I will never let that happen again. You will _not_ threaten me and mine. The Company is an obstacle and I'm going to remove it. One piece at a time. Starting with you."

She braced her other foot between his shoulder blades and took the end of his tail firmly in hand. "If you want to die here, mage, that's fine with me. But you'll die slowly. And there will be such agony that you will beg for death instead of just threatening it. Unless you tell me what I want to know. And I want to know what secret Blackwood has got up their sleeve. And you're going to tell me."

Sharah pressed the point of her dagger into the underside of the end of his tail. "You've heard the expression 'skinned alive'. I always thought it was just that: an expression. Let's see if we can glean a bit of truth from it, you and I. Shall we?" The dagger's point sank into his flesh and, while he squirmed and shrieked, she drew it down his tail slowly, inch by inch.

Ajum-Kajin fixed his eyes on the Dunmer in the shadows, "Stop her. Please! You can't let her do this!"

She sank her blade a bit deeper, "He can. And he will. What mercy has your Company earned in your time, mage? What kindness do you deserve for slaughtering good people?!" Her voice became darker, her tone deepening so much so that it distorted her words, "Now I suggest you talk, mage. Because I've got a hundred little ideas on how to make you hurt, and this is just the start."

The Argonian's eyes were crazed with fear as he thrashed beneath her weight, "No! Nothing more! I…I choose death!"

The straps around one of his hands came loose and, while he couldn't get his wrists or elbows free, he could reach his pocket. His hand disappeared into the fabric and flame suddenly burst from his skin. Sharah leapt back as he was entirely consumed in the heat. The Argonian thrashed and shrieked, but fell silent in a matter of seconds. When he was still, the fire ceased to run beneath his skin, although what clothes and flesh had caught the flame continued to burn.

Oreyn was already beside her, looking down at the body, "What in Oblivion was that?"

"I don't…" Sharah knelt down and carefully removed the mage's hand from his pocket. His finger bore a ring that she was pretty sure hadn't been there before. She used her dagger point to work it from the finger and turned to the lamp to inspect it. She could feel a powerful enchantment bound up in the metal. Very powerful. And inscribed on the inside of the ring was the word 'silence'.

Sharah held it out to Oreyn. "I think the inscription says it all."

Oreyn scrutinized the band, then cursed, "A last resort. Must be a hell of a secret that made him carry that around just in case. What else would it be for than to keep him… 'silent'?" He handed the ring back to her, "At least we got some information out of him."

Sharah received the ring, then let it drop carelessly into the sand before collapsing herself into the chair Ajum had occupied. Oreyn was talking, but her own thoughts were louder. Damn…what had she just done? Driven a man to suicide. Her head had gone somewhere…dark. Very, very dark. Accessed this repository of knowledge and ruthlessness that she didn't even know she had. Like her wolf…but worse.

All those ideas running through her mind. Some she'd never even imagined before, and they'd just…occurred to her on the spot. The skinning really would have just been the start. If she'd kept going, he would have looked like ground meat by the end and still been breathing. And she would have enjoyed it, been satisfied with witnessing his pain whether he talked or not. Good Gods, what was she?

"Wolf?"

Sharah lifted her head to look up at him, although her skull felt heavy, "Hm?"

Oreyn looked concerned, "You alright?"

She sighed and leaned back, looking down on the still smoldering body. "I honestly don't know." It was still there. She couldn't feel it. Didn't know if she'd ever touch it again like she just had. But she knew it was still there within her. Good Gods, what was she?

The mer shifted, crossing his arms solemnly, "I'm sorry we don't have more time, or I'd give you plenty to recover from this. But there's a limited window where this information is valuable. And we still don't have enough."

Sharah shook her head, "I…I can't do this again, Oreyn. I…I just can't." Her wolf had gotten out of control up in Bruma. What if this took over the same way? What would happen to her then? What would she do then? Where would she stop? Would she stop? If this…thing took hold, Sharah was certain she wouldn't be coming back out of it.

Oreyn said gently, "I know. And I won't force you…But you're not going to like the alternative."

Sharah winced. She didn't want to ask. But she really had to. "What alternative?"

"You infiltrating the Blackwood Company. Going inside, and getting the information we need."

Sharah blinked dumbly. "What?"

"I know what I'm asking," he reassured her, "But whatever Blackwood's secret is, we can't go up against them without knowing it. If the mage was carrying a suicide ring with him at all times, it must be something big. And probably dangerous."

She blurted out, "I can't infiltrate them, Oreyn. I…I can't. I'm the Guild's Champion. They'd never even let me in the building."

Oreyn met her sea green eyes with his piercing red ones, "They might if you weren't in the guild anymore."

She sat stock still, then bolted to her feet, "You want me to give up the guild? No. No!" She started pacing, nearly tripping over the charged body she'd been ready to skin alive and then some. No…and then a lot more. "I can't do that, Oreyn. You can't ask me to do that!"

The guild was the only thing that kept her from going completely psychopathic. The only thing that kept her from screaming full bloody murderer. This increasingly vicious streak was cropping up more and more often in her. And the only thing that kept her from giving in was the Guild. That she was Fighters Guild, and they didn't act that way. That the Guild was looking to her, and she had to keep control. They were her center. The thing that kept her sensibilities alive. She couldn't give them up. She couldn't!

Oreyn watched her movements steadily, "Like I said, Sharah, I know what I'm asking. I understand all the loss you've had to endure. But this is the only way. In a matter of months, Blackwood is going to be up here again. What's the other option? Do you think you can lead the guild back to strength before Blackwood comes back? Do you think you can do that with what you have? How long before Vilena catches up with you and expels you completely? And how long after that until the Guild falls?"

She rounded on him, "And how is deserting the Guild any different from being thrown out?"

Oreyn remained utterly calm, "Because you're doing this _for_ the Guild. And deserters can rejoin. Those expelled have to be invited by the Guildmaster. And do you think Vilena will do that? Honestly?"

A word kept ringing in her mind with the rage of an angry mob. The word that tossed her mind and turned her stomach. Traitor, traitor, traitor… "They'll think I betrayed them. The guild is all I have. I can't… How can you ask me to act traitor to them?"

Oreyn reached forward and squeezed her shoulder, "I know for a fact that you would never betray us. But this is the best option. And before you ask, no, there really isn't anyone else that can be sent. Whatever their secret is, we need to know it. And you are the best choice we have. When it comes down to it, you've only been in the Guild for about five years. You're relatively new. Blackwood will believe your desertion a lot easier than mine or anyone else's. And I wouldn't ask this of you if I weren't certain of your loyalty."

Sharah's hand strayed to the strap around her bicep. The one that had been there every single day since she'd put it on almost five years ago. She hung her courage on the feel of the leather. It was still a few deep breaths before she asked softly, "What would I have to do down there?"

Oreyn responded, "Join Blackwood Company. Convince them it's legitimate. Avoid me and the Fighters Guild brothers and sisters. All of them. Find out how Blackwood works from the inside. Find out their secret. Then come back and help me plan how to take them down for good." He caught her chin and lifted her head to look at him, "It _will_ be rough going. You _will_ be on your own. But I know you can do it. I know how strong you are."

Did he really? Did he really have that much faith in her? Sharah couldn't think of a time where he'd steered her wrong. So, even with all these fears running through her head about what she was capable of and what she might do if pushed too far in one direction or another…she still trusted Oreyn. Even when he'd been emotionally strung out, he'd always made the right call, even if it meant putting her in charge. She'd never doubt him.

Sharah's hand felt like it was leaded as she reached up to her patch again. The leather was worn, and the months and months of keeping it diligently upon her arm had led to the strap being perfectly conformed to her. As though it were a part of her skin. And taking it off like this would hurt just as much as if it truly were.

But her fingers diligently, if half-heartedly, worked beneath the leather. The buckle came loose and the strap fell away from her arm. And Sharah had the intense desire to cry, like she was giving up a dear friend. Before she could take the decision back, Sharah pressed it into Oreyn's outstretched hand.

His fingers closed around her precious patch and it disappeared into his pocket. "I'll keep it safe until you get back. And I'll clean up here."

Sharah nodded dumbly.

Oreyn gripped both her shoulders firmly, "This isn't permanent. Just until you find what we need. Then, whatever happens between now and then, we'll be back here waiting for you. They all will."

She forced her mouth to work, "What…what about the guildhalls? I told them…I was coming to help."

"No one can know you're a double agent. You're just going to have to let it go and hope they understand afterwards. And this _is_ helping. When you get back, we're going to take Blackwood down for good. Trust me on that."

Trust Oreyn. Never doubt Oreyn. A rule to live by. And Oreyn trusted her. So she had to trust herself.

She stepped out of Oreyn's hold and headed for the door. She wanted to hug him goodbye. But any more kindness and she was liable to break down and weep entirely. Outside, the night had fallen and clouds were obstructing the moons and stars. Her travel pack was…in Oreyn's cabin. She could grab that before he finished dealing with the body. Be gone before anyone really even knew she'd been in town. Then she'd go south…to join Blackwood.

Gods, that felt wrong. But she was going to do it anyway. For the Guild. For Oreyn. For everyone in the Guild she'd lost and for all those she wanted to protect…she was going to go south…to join the enemy.

**Soooo, how'd I dooooo? When I read back over it, I realized 'wow...that was intense'. What are your thoughts? Leave a review and let me know. Next stop, the Blackwood base.**

**Oh, and I took some inspiration for the dream sequence from Poisonessity's Shadowmere on 'devaint art . com', if you wanted to take a look.**


	34. Sharah the Wolf, Blackwood Company

**Thanks for bearing with me folks. I did say coming chapters would be slower in...coming. We're closing in on the end of the Fighters Guild questline. I really hope you are enjoying the tale. Leave a review below if you are and what you like best. I still have openings for OC's if there are any more floating around your heads. Every one I've received has a place of their own in here. But there is always room for one more.  
**

**Oh, did someone want to talk lore with me? I thought it was in one of the reviews but it's been a while. Is that person still following? Still interested? Because I think I've finally squared away the structure of existence in this thing.**

**Anyway, enjoy.**

It took a conscious effort for Sharah to stop reaching for where her guild patch had been during her two week journey. She hadn't actually broken the habit. But she had managed to diminish it to the periodic flexing of her bicep. But whether it was touching bare skin where once there had been leather or the absence of her strap's resistance to the tightening of her muscle, the reminder was the same. She had no Guild. She was alone again.

Sharah had regularly traveled on her own. Companions were sporadic and usually brief or one-way. But even in all her solo adventures, she'd always known that there was a safe place waiting for her in the next city. A shelter with a warm hearth, food, rest, and companionship. But now that was gone. And Sharah was keenly aware of that with each mile she traveled.

Not wanting to chance meeting her guildmates until absolutely necessary, she skirted Bravil. Facing her betrayal in person was the very last thing she wanted to do. But it was going to happen eventually. And all too likely in Leyawiin. And when it happened, she couldn't break down. If she was going to convince Blackwood she'd turned traitor, she'd have to convince her Guild as well.

Divines and Daedra, that was going to break her heart. But she couldn't let on. If she did, her betrayal would all be for nothing. So Sharah steeled herself. She locked all emotions away. Numbed herself out. Odd. The last time she'd done this it had led to trouble with her inner wolf. This time, it was all that kept her going.

Leyawiin was as it always seemed. Winter in the swamp was only slightly less unbearable than the summer. The temperature was uncomfortable rather than insufferable, and there seemed to be a bit more flooding in the lower sections of the city. But the air was still heavy with humidity and dragged sweat from the skin unless you were lucky enough to be born with scales. Gods only knew how the Khajiit survived down here.

But for Sharah, the difference in season wasn't the half of it. For Sharah, nothing was as it had been. Colors were dulled and each breath of the humid air felt as though it were slowly drowning her. But through the numb, she couldn't tell if these changes were the result of what she'd been through here at Forsaken Mine or of what she was doing here now. She took strength from the numbness. And when the changes around her didn't prove debilitating, she pressed on to her destination.

Sharah made her way through town to the guilds plaza. She'd hoped to make it to the Blackwood barracks without any of her Guild seeing her. A hope dashed when Sherina and S'Kasha stepped out of the Fighters Guildhall before Sharah had made her final turn. The fighters saw her and raised their hands in greeting.

Sharah just looked at them. The numb did its task. Even when faced with those she was to betray she showed nothing, and felt only the permafrost beneath her skin. The difference dawned on them slowly. Their hands falling with their faces. Sharah set the last nail in the coffin when she lifted her chin, turned her back on them and strode toward the Blackwood Company's front door.

She'd truly done it now. Sharah was traitor to her Guild. And hated herself for it.

Stepping into the Company's building, Sharah got the impression that it was larger than the Fighters Guild. There was a spacious first floor and, looking up, she could see the railings for the second and third floors as well. The walls were covered by tapestries and fine displays were spaced around the walls, and their coat of arms hung as weaving and weaponry in more than a few places. As though anyone needed more of a reminder whose house this was. In fact, anyone who set foot in here was immediately assaulted by all that was Blackwood profit and success. But then, that was the point.

Sharah wasn't given long to appreciate it. A Khajiit in Blackwood armor was swift to approach her once she was inside. "Hail and welcome. I am Ja'Fazir, second in command of Blackwood Company. Your servant."

It sounded like a practiced shpeel and was delivered with all due pleasantness.

Sharah replied, "Actually, it's the other way around. I'm here to join up."

The perked ears and smile vanished. "Hm. Jeetum'Ze handles recruitment here. You'll have to convince him. Wait here." He headed back toward where he'd come from, which seemed to be the company eating room, currently hosting a meal.

Sharah went back to scanning the room until he came back. The building's initial size, she noticed, was not due entirely to the real size of the building, but rather to the openness of this room. Her guildhall had an entrance hall that reached just as high. But both the right and the left were separated into rooms on each floor. Training chamber, eating area, lounge, storage, several private sleeping chambers.

The Blackwood building had little of that. The building was not so much big as undivided. The openness of the room merely giving the illusion of size. There were some rooms above on the north side of the building, and perhaps an office on the second floor south side. But, in all, the building lacked privacy. The displays, however, were truly as fine as they seemed at first glance. Mostly weaponry, some artifacts, silver dishware was all that was in view, and a proudly displayed wall of books and another of wine. The blatant declaration of success was beginning to annoy her really.

Ja'Fazir returned with an Argonian, whose coloring created vibrant colors around his eyes like a decorative mask. That seemed all to appropriate considering they had a dirty little secret to hide.

"You are seeking to join?" The Argonian who must be Jeetum'Ze scrutinized her from head to foot, "Blackwood is always looking for fresh blood. Your name."

"Sharah the Wolf. Formerly of the Fighters Guild."

The Khajiit sneered arrogantly, then said off side to his companion, "Another guild rat leaving the ship."

Jeetum'Ze meanwhile had furrowed the scales of his brow, "I think I've heard of you. Not just Fighters Guild. High rank Fighters Guild. Very high up. Very popular. Done many contracts for them lately. Yes. Why, then, are you here to join us?"

Sharah's eyes narrowed in spite of her control, "I recall saying I was 'formerly of the Fighters Guild'."

Ja'Fazir added, "I remember a rumor from Bruma. Did you not lead the Fighters Guild there?"

She set her shoulders back a bit, "I did. Even made Champion rank in Cheydinhal. But, while you may have heard about Bruma, word hasn't gotten out about Chorrol yet. I've been expelled. By the Guildmaster herself, no less. I barely took ten steps in the door before she came out of nowhere and threw me out of the Guild. Very loudly. And very publicly." Sharah grumbled, apparently to herself, "Only proactive thing she's done in six months. That and kick her second to the curb."

Sharah straightened again, "So I'm out of the Guild and in need of work. And if the Fighters Guild can't appreciate me as an asset, where better to go than their competitor?"

Jeetum'Ze rubbed the scales of his jaw, "There is much work to be done in Cyrodiil. And the Blackwood Company is more than happy to do it. But I wonder, if the Fighters Guild does not want you, what makes you think we would?" The Khajiit beside him actually smiled as the question was posed.

Sharah's brow descended, "I was expelled because Vilena Donton is a fool with personal issues. She demoted me for delivering news of her son's death, and expelled me for trying to revitalize the Guild. Not the sort of example any intelligent person would want to follow. As for why you'd want me? If you've heard of me, then you know I can handle myself. And, as an added bonus, I can provide you with a wealth of inside information regarding the Fighters Guild."

"Is that so?" Ja'Fazir sneered.

"Yes," she replied firmly, "Before he was expelled, Modryn Oreyn was training me to be guild-second. I know the Fighters Guild inside and out. Better than Vilena at this point. And I'm willing to share. Provided there's something in it for me. Namely membership on the winning team."

The Khajiit leaned forward, "And what makes you think we need it if we're winning?"

The recruitment officer added, "And if you are turning on your Guild so quickly, what gives us assurance you won't turn on us?"

Sharah sighed, eased back and crossed her arms, "Look, if you don't want me, then just say so and I'll leave. You're my first choice, but you're not my only option. And if I won't get work here, then I'd like to get on the road to my next option. I'm not interested in hanging around if nothing's going to come of me being here. But I'm present, willing and capable. So either welcome me in or tell me to leave."

Jeetum'Ze actually laughed through his pointed teeth, "Be calm. You cannot expect us to open our doors on a whim. But the question stands. Why should we believe you won't betray us like you now do the Fighters Guild?"

"The Fighters Guild turned on me. And I'm only offering what I have at my disposal, just as all recruits do. I just happen to have more than my sword and arm that would be useful to you. So why shouldn't I put my best foot forward?"

The Blackwood stood for a bit considering, trading some subtle non-verbal communications through their eyes. At last Jeetum'Ze said, "Very well, recruit. You may join. For now. We shall see how you do, then decide if you are truly one of us. For now, go to the mess and join your new brothers. Perhaps you will have a mission to prove yourself soon."

Sharah inclined head sharply to them, then hitched her pack up on her shoulder and went walked to where the noise was coming from. It didn't escape her notice that the two Blackwood seemed rather pleased with themselves. Small wonder considering they'd managed to 'recruit' such a Fighters Guild asset. Sharah didn't dare think she'd gotten in fully yet. He'd said 'for now'. She was on probation. They might not even let her on a mission for a while. Still, she was in the building and in the Company. So far so good.

All conversation stalled when she appeared in the mess's doorway, what seemed to be the only separate room on the first floor. The table was mostly seated with beastfolk. But there were some cagey men and mer as well. A handful of women were present, but they were a vast minority. Sharah ignored the stares, and walked to the emptier end of the table. She dropped her pack at her feet and took a seat on the corner. Then grabbed a hunk of bread and some cheese and went about eating as though it were the single most interesting thing she could do.

Talk gradually built up again, if more subdued from before. And out of the corner of her eye, Sharah caught glances cast in her direction. But she stayed focused on her meal. Although she did observe them without being too blatant about the watching. They weren't like the Fighters Guild. They were mercenaries, but seemed more the ends-and-means type than the honor-and-service type. At least that was the impression she received from what they spoke of and how they discussed it.

She focused her sight on her food while she listened. Forcing herself into their midst was more likely to be met with resistance and mistrust. They weren't stupid by any means. So she had to let them come to her in order for this merging to be as natural as possible. And they did.

There was some shifting down at the other end of the table. Not long after, Sharah felt two bodies at her back.

"Well, well, another new recruit."

"How long do you think this one will last?"

"Don't know." She heard him sniff. "Smells sort of like a…rat."

She continued eating, ignoring the pair of trouble makers behind her and reaching for a bottle. Beer. She disliked the drink, but decided not to rise to seek another.

A furred paw of a hand appeared in her vision, leaning on the table to her left, "Is that what we have here? A guild rat in our midst?"

Sharah looked up at him, "Don't call me that. I am Blackwood now, not Fighters Guild. You can ask Jeetum'Ze." Speak of the Daedra, the Argonian came back into the dining hall alone and took a seat on the far side of the room, returning to the meal he'd left.

Her new brothers remained, however. An Argonian voice behind her hissed, "Kind of scrawny. Even for a guild rat."

She took a swig from the bottle. Damn, it tasted like barley flavored piss. But perhaps the bitterness had been in her mouth to begin with. "Do not call me that," she repeated.

The Khajiit at her side said, "You better be careful, new blood. Recruits don't last long here. Especially not you soft-skins. You tend to have complications. Then you just disappear."

"Do they now?"

"Oh, yes. So watch your step, guild rat."

She felt a little flicker over her numbed out mind set, "Don't call me that."

The Khajiit leaned closer, "What was that, guild rat? Couldn't quite hear you."

Sharah glanced down the table. Jeetum'Ze was pulling her act. Eating intently and utterly ignorant of whatever else was going on at the table. Ah. So that was how it was to be. He'd do nothing about her being harassed by other Blackwood.

Sharah gripped the beer bottle and took another swig, the bitter drink shooting a vein down through her numbness to stir her anger. She stood up and clear of her seat, then drew Umbra from its sheath. Her provokers took careful notice and talk at the table paused again. At least until she set Umbra over her pack. It was soon joined by her dagger.

Then she turned to the Khajiit and said, "Say that once more to me."

The Khajiit looked properly pleased and ever so arrogant. He leaned down to her with a toothy grin, "Guild. Ra—" He didn't finish the word.

Sharah wrenched her torso around and twirled her heel up to strike him across the face. He staggered and she followed after him to plant her fist where her foot had landed. The Argonian threw a punch at her. Sharah barely dodged, then grabbed his wrist and used his own momentum to throw him over her hip. The Khajiit lunged at her waist, tackling her to the ground and sending the two of them rolling into the foyer.

There was scraping of wood on stone and clattering of dishware which told her she might have the rest of the Blackwoods on her in another minute. So she grabbed her attacker's ears and twisted them harshly until he cried out and grappled for her arms. Sharah used the momentary absence of a solid grip to wriggle out of his hold entirely and scramble to her feet and away. Only to have that Argonian from before come at her. They engaged in a fist fight while Sharah tried to keep track of the Blackwood coming into the room while blocking the blows that came at her.

But the Blackwood didn't engage. They circled up, trying to get a better view of the fight, and shouting encouragement almost solely to her opponents. So this sort of proving was expected. And apparently encouraged, because Jeetum'Ze might not have joined in with the jeering but he was certainly watching the entire exchange without attempting to put a stop to it. Well then, she'd continue to the end on her own.

Sharah abandoned her defense and attacked with vigor. She'd trained with Nahsi of the Bravil Fighters Guildhall in hand to hand. That Khajiit was a martial arts master, and Sharah had learned her lessons well. Although the Thieves Guild dirty fighting tricks were enormously helpful against an opponent who was not entirely honorable themselves.

The Argonian had removed his cuirass for dinner so she got within his defenses and dealt heavy damage to his abdomen. He yanked her around by her hair, but she continued her assault despite the separation happening at her scalp. As a final measure, she reached down and grabbed his armor's metal codpieces and twisted and shoved it to the side. Given how he roared, she must have pinched something important. He finally let go of her hair only to grab her belt instead and hurled her away with the last of his strength. Sharah rolled with the throw and came to her feet.

The Argonian backed off, holding his middle and groin. When he came in contact with the line of their audience, they absorbed him and Sharah was left with her Khajiit opponent. He approached her with more care this time, but still with the rage in his eyes. Sharah fell into guard position and waited. Waited for him with all the predatory patience of a wolf.

The jabs came quick as he utilized his speed and claws to attack her. Sharah took a few jabs to her cuirass, but avoided most, backing away slowly. Then she dodged to the side and let the Khajiit's next jab slam his fingers into a support pillar straight on. He yowled like he'd been mortally wounded. Sharah used the distraction to grip him by the collar and slam his back against the pillar he'd just broken a couple fingers on.

As a final measure she jammed her knee into his groin, eliciting another yowl. But she caught him by the throat when he'd slid down the pillar part way. She held him there with her forearm across his neck, not quite cutting off his air flow. But his knees were bent awkwardly beneath him, just holding up his weight and the Khajiit himself not in a mental state to make good use of them. And his hands dangled just a few inches above the ground and provided him no support.

She kept her grip and growled into his face, "Say it again, furball. Come on, now. Say it again to me." All she got was some garbled breath as a response. And that was the only sound in the room. No one was cheering or jeering. They were just silent, watching to see how it would turn out. In truth, Sharah wasn't really sure how it was going to turn out either. She could probably kill him now, crush his larynx or something similar. But killing a Blackwood within an hour of her recruitment probably wouldn't go over well. And it seemed she'd done the unexpected by besting her hazers. But certainly it had gone far enough. And certainly someone should have spoken out by now to put a stop to this.

Two sequential claps broke the silence. "That's enough."

Sharah looked over her shoulder toward the staircase. A Khajiit stood part way up the steps, surveying things. His fur was a dark orange and he had black streaks across his face and through his short cut mane. Though whether they were natural or minerally made, she couldn't tell. It was hard to tell how long he'd been there watching either. The rest of the Blackwood Company backed out of his way as he came down and she saw their eyes drop so that none met his gaze directly. They deferred to him. So this was Ri'Zakar, the Blackwood's head.

Sharah let go of her opponent and stepped away as he hit the floor, but continued observing her enemy from beneath lowered lids. She tracked his gait, the way he moved, the strength in his limbs. She took in everything. Because she needed to know him for the day that she would kill him.

Ri'Zakar looked toward the Argonian slightly hidden in the crowd, and at the Khajiit who could barely hold himself up on hands and knees, "More hand-to-hand training is required if you were bested so easily by this one." Both her opponents attempted pained bows to their leader. Then he turned his attention on her, "And you. You are skilled. But you will learn how things are done here."

Ri'Zakar strode forward, lifted his hand and slapped her hard. Sharah's head yanked to the side, but she remained steady on her feet even though the blow had been unexpected. Nor did she reach up to touch the place he'd hit. "You will not attack your brothers."

Sharah didn't hesitate to answer, "Yes, sir." No point in arguing that they'd provoked her or that no one had done a thing to stop it. The rules were different here, and she needed to run with the crowd.

"Your answers to me will be 'Yes, Pakseech'. Is this understood?"

Sharah had never heard of a 'Pakseech' before. It must mean leader or elder

Sharah's considerations prevented her from answering quickly and Ri'Zakar struck her again. Harder this time. And Sharah's soul plummeted into the abyss.

"Answer me, recruit," he growled.

This time the reply leapt from her mouth, "Yes, Pakseech." She spoke with no inflection, and her face was emotionless. Ri'Zakar looked at her hard, seeking something, anything that might denote aggression or resistance. Any sign that she might challenge him. But there was nothing. Sharah stood still as stone, even when something ran down her cheek from where his claws had struck her.

At last Ri'Zakar flashed his teeth in triumph, utterly unaware that her apparent passivity was in truth a death sentence for him. Her numbness was no longer a method of keeping her emotions from sight, it was a side effect of the cold rage within her. Sharah was here to kill them. All of them. The onlookers watching the new blood be put in her place. Her opponents who were far too pleased with her punishment. And especially this Pakseech who dared to strike her. But not yet. Not until she had what she'd come down here for. The death would follow.

Ri'Zakar spoke to her, but loud enough for all to hear, "We are Blackwood Company. We are strongest together. Closer than clan. Attacking ones clanmates harms the whole and weakens us all."

"Yes, Pakseech."

He flashed his teeth again, "Now return to your meal. Training comes early." This order was to everyone and the mob broke up and headed back to the dining hall. Sharah was avoided. Her proving did not provide her the acceptance it should have. But perhaps that was because she was supposed to lose. No matter.

As Sharah sat down to eat, she didn't wipe clean where her 'leader' had marked her. She wore it like a badge under the eyes of the Blackwoods. Let them know she'd taken the licking and didn't care. Let them believe she submitted wholly and without complaint. Let them think she was one of them until the day she put a dagger in their back. Jeetum'Ze finally threw her a rag as the meal broke up. She took it as permission and wiped the blood away, but didn't mend the marks. It would heal in a few days without help and serve as a reminder of her submission to the rest of them in the meantime.

The barracks were downstairs in the basement. Like the Fighters Guild, it was enormous. The bunks were spaced like those of the army, which was to say as little space between them as possible. It was also communal, men and women being provided no separation of any sort. She'd have to arrange her bathing carefully, because there was no way she'd be naked in front of these folk.

The training center could be seen a level below, complete with weaponry, training mats and targets. The task for tomorrow. She suspected their training methods would be equally as harsh and unforgiving as their welcome.

As she lay in her bunk, Sharah ran through what she'd learned already. They were less a family and more a 'clan'. They enforced discipline like a pack might punish a disobedient pup, with public physical humiliation. It was probably a tendency from Black Marsh or Elsweyr, an honoring of their beastfolk heritage. How on Mundus had they gotten chartered in Leyawiin of all places?

But she saw nothing that would explain their effectiveness. This method of operation was different but it couldn't be the secret Ajum-Kajin had silenced himself over. She'd just have to be patient and wait for it to be revealed. She could do that. Her rage was as cold and dark as a pit that had never seen the Magus' light. Waiting would be no problem at all.

XXX

Early training was right. But Sharah was used to rising before the Magus. Good thing too. Every single Blackwood was scrambling out of their bunk and onto their feet the moment the call was sounded, leading her to believe this was a normal thing. Training started immediately, leaving scarcely enough time to don day clothes. Sharah was one of the few who managed to get armor on before the entire company was driven from the sleeping room and down into the lower basement level.

Training was harsh. Blackwood pushed their soldiers like an army, putting them through a regimen that was a combination of Fighters Guild and o-natural techniques. Sharah was in good shape as a result of her lifestyle and was able to keep up. Good thing, too. Because the ones at the back of the group, or the slowest at the exercise were dragged forward and humiliated in one way or another. So her dress down yesterday had been nothing special. And the superiors always picked someone. So Sharah learned to keep up without needing a lesson herself.

Although she didn't try to do her best. In everything they did, Sharah held herself back, keeping to the average and the middle. No reason to give Blackwood a full grasp of her capabilities. Not if she was going to have to kill them later. Better to hide her strength and speed and wit, and bring them to bear when it counted. So Sharah kept up, but did not outdo.

Not that it won her any friends. Blackwood still didn't trust her. Not that she was surprised. The first clue had been while she was hastening into clothing this morning. Someone had searched her pack in the night. Nothing was missing, but it was not precisely as she'd packed it. Good thing Sharah had left anything of value at the closest Thieves Guild way station. Those were going to be handy if she could just remember to use them in the future. And Sharah was not going to bring the Skeleton Key or Azura's Star into Blackwood. All her voyeur had found were some potions and spare clothes.

The second clue was training itself. She saw the cliques and groups early on. Pairing up during weapons training, gasped conversations during laps around the basement. But when there was a moment to breath, no one approached Sharah. When it was time to choose opponents, it was always the odd one out who finally squared off against her. And it was more than that she was former Fighters Guild. Sharah suspected it was because of yesterday. She'd broken the mold they were so entrenched in. Newcomers were hazed. They were supposed to lose, take their bruises and beatings before being welcomed into the fold. But Sharah had broken that cycle. She might have taken the bruises. But the others guys looked worse.

She didn't mind, though. Hell, she didn't care. Sharah was not here to make friends. She was here to find their secret and weakness. Blackwood was her enemy. That was the only thing that kept her going. And for all her control, Sharah still found herself glancing around the room and wondering which ones had been dispatched to Forsaken Mine all those months ago. Maybe she'd seek out the paperwork thereof before leaving. That way she knew whose throats in particular she needed to aim herself towards.

As for the solitude, Sharah shrugged it off. She didn't go seeking a group to mingle with, instead just sitting to gulp down water and breath. If they came to her, so be it. If they didn't, the same. She was here for information. That task was all that mattered.

At last the training ended. It had been more intense than what she was normally used to. Even Oreyn had made sure she was not just learning, but in good shape to learn for the entirety of his sessions. But perhaps this was the method most used in Elsweyr or Blackmarsh. It seemed effective, pushing the limits of their people every day. Forcing them to keep up and improve. The training methods explained some, but not all of their effectiveness. And for all they kept their methods sealed up tight in the basement, it was clearly not the secret she was here seeking.

When the training broke up, Sharah was still left on her own. Which was fine. It gave her ample opportunity to listen and observe. Thanks to Gray's lessons, Sharah knew how to disappear without use of the illusion school of magic. She could stand in full view and still go unnoticed. So she listened. Blackwood was not Fighters Guild. Just by how they spoke, it was clear the Company handled contracts differently, although the exact facets were something she'd need to see for herself. But there was a harsh undertone to their boastings and congratulations and eagerness.

Company members finally began drifting from the building, going to the merchants or the taverns. Sharah stayed though. Not only was she going to find Blackwood's secret in here, she didn't want to meet her guildmates out on the street. Not yet. So she stayed in the barracks and gave the building a proper look around. It was hard to know who was keeping an eye on her, so she simply assumed everyone was. Sharah wandered the building, dawdling at the displays and coats of arms, browsing the book selection. But all the while she scoped out the interior. Nothing obvious. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a well-off mercenary company.

Except for one door. She'd noticed a section cut out of the basement space that lined up perfectly with another door on the first floor. And it always seemed to have a higher rank member loitering nearby. Sharah settled into a chair with a book to observe without looking conspicuous. All the while she sat, only one person went in and out, and only once. An Argonian mage. He came out, talked briefly with the guard, then went back down. Considering Sharah hadn't seen any other mages while she'd been here, that room was likely where they remained. And except for that brief appearance, the door remained firmly shut.

It was down there. She knew it. The secret to Blackwood was down there. The secret important enough that members killed themselves rather than reveal it. Which meant she needed to get down there. Which meant retrieving her Skeleton Key. Sharah would have to arrange an opportunity to retrieve it without letting on. Then find a time when the door was unguarded and find out what was inside. And the sooner she did it, and the sooner it proved to be their foundation crumbling secret, the sooner she could get out of here and back to Oreyn. She just had to find the right moment.

XXX

Two more days and the right moment had yet to present itself. But Sharah was steady, patient, and ready. And as far as she knew, no one suspected she was a double agent. Although that was hard to tell considering how close to the vest Blackwood played things of import.

Sharah hadn't even had the opportunity to go retrieve some of her things from the Thieves Guild waystation. She'd had to pay a beggar to get the Skeleton key for her. It was currently stashed in a hidden knot of the tree in the center of the plaza out front. Sharah planned on snagging it when there was no one around, but until then she would be patient and play her role as Guild turncoat. She was seated in the library corner reading when her first call to arms as a Blackwood came in.

"New blood," Jeetum-Ze shouted from across the room.

Sharah dropped her book and leapt to her feet to salute, "Yes, sir."

"We have a mission. Short distance, combat. Equip yourself and move to the training area downstairs." He turned on his tail and left.

So, her first mission for Blackwood. And her search for the Blackwood secret would have to wait. Sharah went for her bunk, grabbed up her weapon and secured the bits of her armor, tucked some potions into her belt pouch and hurried to the training area. She was the last to arrive, and Jeetum-Ze was there with three other Blackwoods waiting. One of them was her Khajiit friend from her arrival, his muzzle still swollen out of proportion from the damage she'd done to it.

Jeetum-Ze started the briefing as soon as she came onto the training mats, "The four of you have a mission. Water's Edge has contracted us to take care of some goblins in the area."

Water's Edge. The settlement where Bien Amelion lived, Sharah's first client under Oreyn's instruction. So they'd turned to Blackwood too. Sharah gave no outward sign, but she had hoped her work for Bien would have earned some loyalty.

Jeetum-Ze continued, "They've been giving the locals some trouble, but should be no problem for the four of you. The three of you should be prepared by now. And I'm sending the new blood with you to get some experience." The Argonian turned to her, "Recruit, you'll need to take care on this mission. Some new recruits have…complications. Not used to the methods. Stick with your brothers, and we'll see how you do."

Complications? She didn't like the sound of that.

Her 'brothers' looked eager as Jeetum-Ze went to a previsouly locked and bolted crate and opened it to remove several bottles. The clinking of glass indicated there were many more such bottles inside. He returned and handed out the potions to each of them, including giving one to her. The three others downed theirs immediately but Sharah was more hesitant. Uncorking the thing, she took a sniff and screwed up her face as the noxious fumes flooded her nose.

"What is this?" she asked, holding the thing at arm's length.

Jeetum-Ze replied, "Drink. It will increase your skills in battle. We use it often. It is a good, good thing."

"But what is it?" she persisted, not liking the viscosity of the liquid in the bottle. "No offense, but I'm not drinking it until I know what the hell it is." She'd seen the effect of drugs and roofies in the Waterfront and Thieves Guild. There was no way she was chancing that.

Her superior said proudly, "It is a gift from the swamps of Argonia. A present from my homeland. Sap of the Hist."

Sharah had to process that. Hist…she'd read about that before. A very rare tree that was supposed to be sentient. She'd read it was a vital part of Argonian religion and society. But…

"I thought I was illegal to import Hist Sap."

The Argonian scoffed at her, "Don't be stupid. We have returned with the Hist itself." The Blackwood got this dreamy look in his eye, "One beautiful Hist who gives her gifts to all the Company. The Hist is so generous to us. So generous…" He jolted back to look at her, "Now is not the time to talk. Drink your gift. It is time to go."

Sharah was even more hesitant now. Hist Sap. The stuff in the vial was thick and smelled at once bitter and sickeningly sweet. Was this their secret? Possibly. Probably. But what did the Hist Sap do? How did it affect them? Her inclination was to hide the bottle and somehow get it to Oreyn. He was more likely to know about his stuff than she was. But all the Blackwood were looking at her expectantly, her 'brothers' eager to leave for the contract and not likely to budge until she'd done as they had.

Dammit. She got another whiff of the stuff as she brought it toward her mouth and nearly gagged. There was no way she could fake drinking it with all of them watching. No way to get it to Oreyn, or even keep from having to drink it. Not without probably blowing her cover. Dammit. This was not going to end well. She could feel it. But…she had to. If Sharah wouldn't have a sample of the sap, at least she'd have a first-hand experience to draw on when she told Oreyn about this. So, with no other choice, Sharah plugged her nose and threw the bottle's contents to the back of her throat.

The thickness of the liquid refused to just be flushed down. It caught on her tongue and dragged down her throat, coating all of her innards as it went. She coughed and gagged and nearly threw up, all under the approving looks of the Blackwoods. Damn, that was vile. The taste of the sap was worse than the smell. And when the stuff finally let itself get swallowed down it left anything it touched feeling like dry tree bark. And the aftertaste…it just felt wrong. This stuff…this Hist Sap…was just wrong. All wrong.

The three others started for the stairs and Sharah forced herself to follow. The sap's affect hit her about two thirds of the way up. Her stomach roiled, her skin and muscles started to get tingly and restless, and it felt like there was a fire starting in her brain. By the time she got to the top of the stair the world was blurring a little and there was a steady crackling sound that grew louder and louder in her ears. Sharah didn't even remember reaching the front door.

XXX

GOBLINS. Goblins everywhere. Inthetowninthestreetsinthepensinthegardensinthehou ses. Everywhere. Goblins everywhere. She had to kill the goblins. Umbra was already in her hand. Sharah cut and hacked. Barely felt her arms as they swung and sliced. In her ears the goblins screamed. Or was it her? Or was it from far away?

Goblins everywhere. Where were the townsfolk? Goblinsgoblinsgoblinsgoblins. The world was blurry. How was she supposed to see where she were she was striking?

Who was screaming? She didn't understand. Black and red. She didn't understand. If goblin blood was black, why was Umbra red? She didn't understand.

The screams outside her ears moved inside, screaming in her skull, screaming from within. The world tilted around her. She was leaning against the earth and the sky was straight ahead, laid out before her. And above, below and beside were black trees. Black trees. Laughing at her. Why were they laughing? She hadn't asked the world to tilt. She didn't understand.

_Black trees. A whole forest around her. Surrounding her. Laughing at her. But the laughter changed. Changed to screaming. A whole forest around her. Surrounding her. Screaming at her. Screamingscreamingscreaming. Screaming from agony. Screaming from violation. Screaming for death. Could Sharah kill a forest? She'd never tried…_

Voices shouting. Not the trees. But she couldn't understand them. The world was still tilted. She didn't understand. Hands as strong as roots took hold of her and the ground flew away from her back. Had the trees returned? She couldn't hear them screaming anymore…

_Screaming. A whole forest screaming. She couldn't shut them out. They were in her head. Screaming in her head. Sharah was caught in a storm of trees screaming in pain. In violation. For mercy. For death. Someone help! Please, help! Please make the screaming stop! Sharah begged into the storm, pleaded for someone to hear her and come. And someone did…_

Someone she knew. Someone who was familiar. Someone who would protect her and comfort her…

_Comfort and protection in the storm. She was comforted and protected in the storm. The trees still screamed, but she was no longer alone. _Please don't leave me alone. Please don't leave…Mother…please don't leave…

**Alright, we're just about to the end of the questline. Then we'll get Lucien back and the real fun can start. Leave a review if you like.  
**


	35. How to Start a Black-Woods Fire

**Here's another update. I figure I'll say it again: I'm still accepting OC's. I'll harvest the mods i've been playing for the rest, and give credit where it's due. Onward and upward! **

Sharah came awake like a barrel in a storm, surfacing for brief spurts of consciousness before being submerged again. Often those spurts were met with something being put to her lips. Sharah resisted at first, her ingestion of the Hist sap one of the few clear things in her mind. But she was weak and the vessel was persistent. She almost cried with relief when it was water. And there were later times when it became a flavorful broth. But, no matter the liquid, it was as likely to be heaven on the tongue as Oblivion in her gut. Which meant she drank it down and drifted off as often as she convulsed and retched until she passed out.

There were other unpleasantnesses. She would wake hot and clammy. Or shivering uncontrollably. But the one thing that was consistent was that, whenever she was aware of her surroundings, there was always someone there. Always someone there to ease her. And, even if her mind couldn't fish their identity from the haze, the fact that their voice was familiar was enough that she would slip back under without concern.

But while bobbing in and out was constant, coming fully awake was a challenge. The haze retreated slowly, returning senses and sensations one at a time. The warm, homey air flowing into her nose, the crackle of a fire some feet away, the presence of a pillow and mattress beneath her and the warm pressure of a blanket above.

Sharah lifted her eyelids and had to fight them open, as they clearly weighted a hundred pounds each. She was inside somewhere, sun streaming into the small room through a few windows, providing more light than the fire and candles could alone. It was probably a good thing her thoughts were sluggish or she might have started panicking about where she was.

Moving her head was even more of a challenge than the eyes. She managed to shift her head to one side. A closed door, a cabinet and crate. All set in or against a simple wooden wall. All generic and lower class and none of it distinctive. Sharah slowly rolled the other way and immediately saw Oreyn dozing in a chair beside the bed. Questions shifted like undercurrents beneath the surface of her mind, fighting for air.

"Oreyn," she managed. Although it came out more as a croak.

The mer jolted awake and sat forward. He looked haggard and there were dark rings beneath his eyes, although his gaze was as fiery as ever.

"Easy," he said, "Just take it easy."

Sharah tried to swallow, but her throat felt like sandpaper. Oreyn was on it. He brought a cup of water to her and lifted her head so she could drink with little exertion.

After a sip, she tried again. "Oreyn." It came out more Cyrodiilic than Orcish this time. "How did—"

She rolled ogre-eyes on the liquid this time and lurched herself sideways to evict the contents of her stomach into a waiting bucket. Oreyn had moved to assist the moment her stomach started convulsing, helping her roll and holding her up until it was over. All that came out was water and bile, which said something for her diet lately. Oreyn eased her back and offered the water again. Sharah grimaced and turned away.

"Drink," he ordered, "You always keep it down after. And you need the fluid."

Sharah relented and did as she was told. Like Oreyn predicted, her stomach held it the second time, although it took a while for her to empty the entire glass. When it was done, Sharah lay back and went fishing for those questions, dragging them to the surface.

"Where…we?" She wasn't quite all there, but Oreyn got the gist.

"Cropsford. You've been out over two weeks. Recovering here about one of those."

"What…happened?"

He leaned on one knee, "I was hoping you could tell me."

Sharah closed her eyes, trying to piece things together. But it was difficult. "You…first?"

He replied, "Vantus and his men found you on the road near Leyawiin in bad shape. Good men. Whatever you did with Blackwood, they still didn't hesitate to pick you up. They sent word to me and started bringing you north. I came down, met them part way and diverted you to Cropsford. They went back and I've been taking care of you."

Oreyn leaned forward toward her and continued, "You haven't been good, Wolf. Fever, shakes, nausea, hallucinations. You've been restless and mumbling regularly. I've seen skooma addicts going through withdrawal who looked better. What happened?"

Sharah tried to focus, although it irritated her stomach. Her memories were jumbled up with strange dreams and everything was hard to decipher. But she did remember—"Hist sap. They gave me…Hist sap. Blackwood uses it. Had to drink or…risk discovery."

Oreyn demanded, "Hist sap? They're importing Hist sap?"

Sharah shook her head, regaining her mind gradually, "Jeetum-Ze…Blackwood Officer…said they had a tree. There's a door in the basement. Locked and guarded. Probably there."

Oreyn sat back in his chair and stared into space while Sharah breathed evenly and tried to pull herself together. Her whole being felt like it was just sort of dumped around her center. Pulling it back into working order took time.

"Hist sap," Oreyn finally said, "Incredible…and insane."

"He took vials from a crate. There were others too. A lot of sap."

He asked intently, "How many? How much?"

She shook her head, "A lot. Couple gallons probably. And just what I saw. Might be more in the basement. Or shipped off. He said…they used it often. And it increased their skills."

Oreyn tapped his lip, thinking, "That's more sap than a dozen trees could give healthily. If they're drawing on one tree, they've probably done something to it. Must be what the mages are there for. Must be why they're so important to Blackwood. They'd need a lot of magic to get a Hist making that much sap."

"It tasted bad, Oreyn. Not just bad…but wrong." Sharah shuddered at the recollection of that sap on her tongue and down her throat, "The sap's all wrong."

"Hm…might be a side effect of whatever they've done to the tree. We'd have to see the tree to know for sure. As for the sap, I'm not surprised you were found the way you were. Hist sap is a hallucinogen. And that's just for Argonians. Non-Argonians…well, I don't have to tell you."

Sharah nodded and tried to gather her limbs to raise herself. Oreyn made a move to prevent it, "Oh no. Stay put and rest, Wolf."

Sharah furrowed her brow and tried to put a growl into her tone, "Want to…sit up." She was not going to be some invalid. Two weeks, no matter how bad the two weeks, was enough. She had to get right again. Blackwood was still out there.

Oreyn sighed and helped her to get partly vertical, although the headboard ended up supporting most of her weight. When she was sitting still, he said, "The tree's one thing. There are still a lot of Blackwoods to deal with. And Ri'Zakar has probably got that tree well-guarded. But if we could get to it somehow. Destroy it. Or at least sabotage it… It's their edge. Without it, they'd just be another mercenary band. Can you think of anything else about them? Their training, their methods? Anything we could use, or exploit. Getting at that tree is not going to be easy and we'll need every advantage."

Sharah leaned her head back, feeling the blood drain away from her forehead, "They train like an army. Mornings in the basement till early afternoon. Can't remember much…from the field though. I remember the contract. But can't remember what happened. Went to Water's Edge. And…I remember goblins, but…"

She paused on seeing Oreyn's expression go dark. Her head lolled forward a little, "What?"

His jaw tightened, "Odd that you'd mention that place." She waited for him to continue. It was a while in coming, "The trio passed it while bringing you north. Sharah…" She couldn't understand what made his voice so grave, "…the whole town was wiped out."

The room fell utterly quiet. Sharah could only blink as her mind tried to assimilate this. "…No…We…We were there. I remember we…were fighting goblins. I remember that. All of us. Blackwood and I…we were fighting off the goblins…"

Realizations tore unbidden from the depths of her mind. The mass of goblins in Water's Edge, not just within the town but within the buildings. The absence of the villagers. She couldn't remember seeing even one of them. And the blood on her blade had been red, not black.

The tears flowed hot and fast from her eyes, "Oh…_Oreyn_…it was _us_. We…we did it!" What strength she'd managed to gather drained out of her rapidly, "We killed them. I…I thought they were goblins. I don't know about the others. I swear, all I saw were goblins. But the blood on my sword was red. Oh gods. _Oh gods_!"

Oreyn sat completely still, but she couldn't see his face through the blur of her tears. Didn't want to. She rolled her head away and squeezed her eyes shut, although it did nothing to dampen the flow.

Abruptly her head was taken in hand and gentle fingers brushed away at the streams down her cheeks, "Listen to me, Sharah. This was not you. It was the Hist sap. It had to be. Maybe the mages tainted it. _You_ wouldn't do this. This. Was. Not. _You_."

Sharah hadn't even the strength to shake her head. He didn't know that. How could he? Oreyn didn't know about Hackdirt. She'd slaughtered the entire town. And now…she'd done it again. But not on purpose. Oh, Bien! She'd really liked that woman. And her father was getting better. Keeping away from the gambling more often than not. Sharah had really liked those people. But she'd killed them anyway. Or she probably had. Damn! Sharah didn't even know who she'd killed in that town. All she had seen were goblins. Any number of the villagers could have been the ones to fall to her blade. Sharah didn't even know who she had killed.

"Bad sap," she mumbled, "The sap was wrong. It was just wrong. I could taste it."

Oreyn growled, "Must be why there have been so many 'accidents' with Blackwood. They're using tainted Hist sap. You can't be the only one to suffer from these sorts of effects. Who knows how many innocents have gotten hurt because Blackwood couldn't tell friend from foe." The mer held her face more firmly, "Listen to me, Sharah. I know you must be disgusted with yourself right now. I'm sorry for that. I truly am. But I need you to be strong a bit longer. Can you do that?"

Sharah nodded clumsily, sucking down some halted air until she could see Oreyn's hard face clearly.

He made sure she was stable before he sat back down again, "Now we know the threat they pose. To everyone. And we probably know it better than they do. As long as they use that tainted sap, there's going to be a possibility of them hurting innocents. As long as they have access to it, we are all in danger. And if Blackwood takes over as the mercenary group of Cyrodiil, there will be many more deaths. Not just Water's Edge. And that tree is the source."

Oreyn looked absolutely steady and driven, his path and purpose clearly laid out before him. "We must take decisive action. That tree has to be destroyed. No matter the cost. Blackwood no longer knows what they're doing. That's obvious. They don't care who they hurt as long as their bottom line is met. We have to take matters into our own hands, and rid Cyrodiil of the threat Blackwood poses."

His eyes softened as he looked at her, "Sharah, I know you feel responsible. But this needs to be done. And it needs to be done now."

Sharah heard him. He needed her. The Guild needed her. She inhaled while she let everything sink in. Blackwood. The Hist. Her draws of air were shaky and staggered at first, but grew more even, one after the other. They'd manipulated her. Used her. Made her do something horrible against her will. Sharah's anger sparked, then enflamed. They had used her. Tricked her.

Sharah's hand worked itself into a fist, then relaxed, then clenched again. She felt like her strength would return more swiftly if she had a blade in hand. Umbra sang from a way's away, as if answering her mental call. And Viranus, and Cargas, and Lashana. Blackwood had been on that sap when they'd killed them. Had to be. Blackwood and that damned Hist. Sharah let the rage flare and empower her. Blackwood was going to pay for this. For doing what they did to her. And to everyone else. She was going to make them pay.

XXX

It was more than a week before Sharah walked into the Leyawiin Fighters guildhall again. She stood straight and tall, resolved and intense, with her guild Champion patch back on her arm. She moved with her old fighter's ease, having shaken the lingering effects of the sap completely, and a touch of something else in her pace. A predatory quality that presaged her state of mind.

And she did not come alone. Oreyn was at her back, his expression as grim and resolute as her's. And not even the order from the Guildmaster was going to keep him from the Guild for this fight.

Once inside, Sherina was the first to see them. She elbowed the beefy Bosmer next to her, "See. I told you there was no way."

Sharah called out to them, "I need to speak to Ragar. And I need the entire guildhall assemble immediately."

"What's going on?" Sherina asked, looking between the Champion and former guild-second.

Sharah replied, "Blackwood's gone too far. And the Guild is going on the offensive. Now get moving! There's a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it."

XXX

Up in Ragar's office, Sharah stood by the window, partially concealed behind a curtain, looking out across the plaza at the Blackwood Company building. The briefing had gone as expected. Sharah stood on the first landing of the stair and told the entire guild, in brief, what she and Oreyn had been doing. She told of the information gathering, her infiltration of the Company and what she had learned therein. And she ended it with the truth behind the Water's Edge slaughter. Including her involvement.

The guild gave all the anticipated reactions: eagerness, disbelief, outrage, and approval when she called them to arms. They, like Oreyn, felt only sympathy for her and blamed the Hist Sap for what she had done. Oreyn himself had stood half a dozen steps below her during the whole time she was speaking, faced toward those assembled as she'd been. But he'd refused to take charge of things, claiming he did not have the authority to lead the Guild having been stripped of his membership. Sharah wasn't so sure she believed him. But the mer had more practice being stubborn than she did, so there was no pushing him into it.

For the second time in a twice as many months she was mobilizing a Fighters guildhall. On the floors below, the Guild was preparing for battle. And Sharah had come up here for a bit of quiet, embracing the calm before the storm while she was ordering her thoughts. On the plus side, her inner wolf wasn't going feral this time. And she hadn't howled to the rafters either. Improvements both.

The door opened and shut, and Oreyn stepped into her peripheral vision a moment later. "Any movement?"

"No," she replied softly. "Not that I'd expect it. I'm sure we look quiet from the outside, too." Even though there was a swarm of activity happening downstairs.

Oreyn asked, "You think they know?"

"Know what?" she asked, chuckling slightly, "That I came back to the Fighters Guild? That we're mobilizing? There's no telling what they know and what they don't from here. And I'm not walking into that building alone again. But it doesn't matter. The important thing is the tree. And if it's producing sap at that pace, moving it won't be an option for them. It'll be there whenever we walk in."

The two of them stood looking out the window at their enemy's stronghold, letting their minds churn with what was to come. The door opened a second time. Oreyn looked back while Sharah kept her eyes on Blackwood.

She heard Ragar's armor move as he saluted them, "Wolf, the Count's agreed to give you an audience today. Two o'clock. It got so official, I can't imagine anything but the entire court'll be there."

"Thanks, Ragar," Sharah replied.

Oreyn questioned, "How about downstairs? How are the preparations?"

"The Guild's just about ready. Certainly we will be by the end of the audience."

Oreyn glanced at Sharah, but she gave no indication she had anything more to add. So the mer looked at Ragar and told him, "Keep at it. We'll let you know if there's anything else."

Ragar saluted the two, "Yes, sir…um, ma'am…uh…Right away." The Nord left the room hurriedly before his tongue could further trip him up whilst choosing between superiors. In the silence following his exit, Sharah continued her vigil out the window.

"You sure you know what you're doing, Wolf?"

Sharah replied, "We're outnumbered, Oreyn. If we go in alone, it'll be a massacre. We need the city's assistance if we want to take down Blackwood."

"That's now what I meant," Oreyn said, "I just want to be certain you're not going to do anything foolish." Sharah cocked an eyebrow at him, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Oreyn shook his head and growled, "What I mean is…" he grew serious, "…no one outside the Guild needs to know what you did at Water's Edge. Our guildmates will keep the secret within the ranks if you ask them. They'll protect you."

She turned to the mer, "And what message would that send? I'm not going to hide from this, Oreyn."

"You don't even know if you killed anyone. You said yourself you don't remember what happened. For all you know you were in the paddock among the sheep," he pointed out.

"…I was in the houses, Oreyn. I know I killed someone. And I won't put anyone in the position of keeping my secrets." She did enough of that on her own. "Besides, this isn't about protecting me, it's about protecting the Guild. We have to take down Blackwood in the right way or it will only cause more problems."

She'd considered just finishing it on her own. Sneaking into Blackwood's basement and torching the tree in the dead of night. Hopefully burning the whole place to the ground at the same time, along with everyone in it. But that would be impulsive. Sharah might have done that sort of thing while she'd been crazy in Bruma, but now she had control. Well…more control. Her wolf still had this perpetual growl that echoed in her bones.

If she pulled a 'feral wolf' then, yes, Blackwood would be decimated, but all suspicion would be turned toward the Fighters Guild. Who else would have motive? Even if Sharah herself was not blamed, there would be consequences weighted upon the Guild from the public. They'd be considered as bad as Blackwood and shunned at the first opportunity. No, she had to do this right. She had to do this the Fighters Guild way…no matter how badly she wanted to light that place up.

Oreyn persisted, "So you're going through with this? All of it?"

Sharah tossed a slight smile at him, "If I do this right, we'll have all the help we need. Don't worry about me. Just worry about how much sap Blackwood will have on hand once it starts. If that's what happened to me from one dose, tolerance or not, Blackwood is going to go berserk when we walk through their front door."

XXX

"Sharah the Wolf. Champion of the Fighters Guild." The announcement echoed clearly through the entire audience chamber of Castle Leyawiin as Sharah stepped through the door.

Ragar hadn't been kidding. The entire court must've been present. Knights included. Sharah blamed that snooty Countess. Seemed the woman didn't have anything else to do today than turn this simple audience into a monumental event. But perhaps this could be turned to an advantage. If Sharah could convince them. But that was why she'd rehearsed her arguments to herself for so long, wasn't it? This had to go right. But, in the end, Sharah had the ultimate Skeleton Key.

Really, this was like any theft she'd ever been a part of. She prepared. She knew the political and social layout, was aware of the obstacles she would face, had planned out strategies and backup strategies and fall-back strategies. Now all that was left was the performance itself.

The Count and his Countess sat upon their thrones. Sharah found it rather fitting that the thrones were identical and placed upon the same level. Fact was, the Count didn't really rule in anything but name. The Countess had the backbone and knew how to use it. Count Marius Caro had really gotten the short end of the stick with this marriage. Sharah wondered if he'd realized that yet.

She walked the length of the chamber toward the thrones with every eye upon her. Oreyn was standing among them and not at her back this time. She'd tried to talk him out of coming altogether. First of all, he probably wouldn't be welcome. The Countess didn't just take issue with the Beast-folk. She was uncomfortable with Dunmer too. Really, anything that wasn't white-bread Nibenean seemed to rub her wrong. But, again, that could prove to be an advantage.

And second, he was likely to jump to her defense if things started to turn bad. But Sharah needed control here. As well-meaning as Oren's defense would be, it would just get in the way. This was Sharah's time, and she needed the freedom to do her work.

Sharah stopped at the appropriate distance from the ruling parties and bowed deeply, "I am honored that the esteemed Count and Countess of Leyawiin have permitted me this audience."

"Indeed, this time is valued," the Count replied, loud enough for the whole of the chamber to hear, "Your guildmate assured us that the matter was urgent. So tell us, what has brought you before this court?"

So sending Ragar had done what it was meant to do. Not only leaving the court in period of suspense over what this important issue might be, but giving Sharah the appearance of authority. That she could send a subordinate to arrange things for her. Subconsciously, the gesture raised her up in the court's eyes.

"My lord, I have come to report a crime. And to make a humble request."

"Speak then," he said.

Sharah addressed the Count and Countess, but spoke to everyone present, "You are aware of the tragedy of the settlement of Water's Edge. You have heard of the massacre that occurred there."

"We are."

Of course they had. It had been the talk of the town since it occurred. Word had probably reached Anvil by now.

"But the perpetrators have not yet been caught or even identified. I have information that will rectify that."

The Count sat forward in his seat, "You're saying you know who did it?"

Sharah allowed her chin to drop slightly, a slight show of shame and humility, "Yes, my lord. I do."

"Then tell us," he pressed. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharah saw those on the sidelines standing with equal anticipation.

Sharah raised herself up and spoke clearly, "The criminals who murdered the people of Water's Edge were the Blackwood Company…and myself."

Quiet talk broke out all through the chamber. They'd perhaps expected her to accuse the Black Bow Bandits that frequented the area. Or one of the wild tribes of Black Marsh. Or even the Dark Brotherhood. Perhaps the accusation against the Blackwood Company wasn't too much of a stretch. But her open admission of personal guilt was utterly unexpected. She could see Oreyn looking around warily, possibly identifying who he might have to fight if he needed to get her out in a hurry. Sharah hoped he wouldn't jump the bow before she'd finished.

The Count himself was dumbfounded, leaving Captain Draconis to shout for silence among those gathered. When it was mostly quiet again and the Count himself had recovered, he asked, "You lended to the slaughter of Water's Edge?"

Sharah nodded, "To my everlasting shame, my lord, yes."

"And you accuse the Blackwood Company with you. There must be more to this story. Or you wouldn't have called for such an audience."

She said, "My lord, I requested this audience that you might know all as I have witnessed it. For I did not come just to accuse Blackwood and confess my crime. I came to tell you that the Blackwood Company is a danger to themselves and all around them. A danger I did not truly understand until I was among them. As you are aware, my lord, Blackwood Company is chartered within your city. But they have taken advantage of your welcome and now threaten the people of Leyawiin, and indeed the entire province."

Sharah began her story. She told of Blackwood's expansion and increased popularity, things which were not really news to anyone present. She told of the Fighters Guild's attempts to hold their own and that, ultimately, Sharah had chosen to infiltrate the Blackwood Company to learn about them from within. Sharah made certain to color her tale carefully. Not painting herself a hero, but describing her actions as risky and necessary for the protection of those she considered family.

Then she got to the part about Water's Edge. Sharah said she had been made to ingest a tonic that Blackwood used often and went on to describe the affects it had had upon her. That she had not known waking from sleeping, friend from foe. That she had only known enemies and aggression.

"I do not know who fell by my blade. I truly fear that the death of my friend, Bien Amelion, came by my own hand. But that will remain an agonizing mystery to me, as I cannot recall myself. And there was no one left alive within the town to witness. I fear what I did under the influence of that tonic. And the fact that I will never know will torture me all the more."

The Count was rigid in his throne, "And you say Blackwood was there with you. And that they did the same."

She replied, "They were with me, my lord. But I can remember their actions no more than my own. But they did not stop me. And when I fell, they left me where I lay. Were it not for my guildmates of the Fighters Guild, I would certainly have died. For the tonic held sway over me for two weeks before I recovered my mind."

"This is…terrible. To think that they lived among us after doing such a thing…" He turned to her again, "This tonic. Do you know what it was?"

"I know what the Blackwood Company told me, my lord. They said that it was sap of the Hist tree." Exclamations broke out amongst the assembly. Sharah spoke over them, "They had crates of it, my lord, enough to supply all their number regularly. And more than that…they say they brought a Hist tree here with them." Now the chamber roared.

The whole room was in a whirlwind that the guard and their captain could not quell. The court was skewed by their Countess, fearing the Argonians of Black Marsh and the Khajiit of Elsweyr that bordered their land. Few, if any, actually knew much about the Hist trees. But the fact that the tree was from the heart of Black Marsh gave the people their opinion of it. And while the rest of the assembly went ot hell, Sharah watched the Argonian steward, On-Staya Sundew.

The Argonian actually knew about the sacred trees of her homeland. And she was drawing more reasonable and grave conclusions than the rest of the racist airheads. She, like Sharah, knew one tree could not produce such a quantity of sap. And that, not only had one of her sacred Hist trees been spirited from her homeland, but something had been done to it. Perhaps something horrifying. While the skewed Nibeneans shouted bloody murder against the Blackwoods, the steward would influence the Beast-folk of Leyawiin when the opportunity presented itself. Blackwood would find no support in the city at all before too long.

Sharah gave the crowd time to get worked up and properly frightened and angry about the seeming invasion of Blackmarsh into their precious Leyawiin. Fools were far too used to being cooped up in their castle with all the other Nibeneans. They seemed to have utterly forgotten that they lived in a swamp. After a little time, Sharah attempted to talk over them, "My lord! I have reported the crime and all related. I would now make my request, unworthy though I am to ask anything after committing such an atrocity."

Even with the idea that there was a possibly berserker group of mercenaries living within their city's walls who were sucking back Hist sap and slaughtering settlements, the crowd wanted to know the request. Sharah had gotten their attention and was holding their interest. The eager curiosity quieted them faster than the shouting guards ever could.

The Count sat forward, interested as well, "Speak then."

Sharah went to a knee. She must look quite the picture for this part. "My lord, I ask that you permit me to find and destroy this Hist tree. I believe their Pakseech, Ri'Zakar, has it within their Company headquarters where his Argonian mages can tend it and harvest the sap. I cannot make amends for what I have done. The crime will be a stain upon my soul for the rest of my life. I cannot hope to make things right. But I wish to make certain it will never happen again. And so long as Blackwood has access to that sap, we are all in danger."

She lowered her head, "But regardless of your decision, my lord, I am prepared to lay myself before the justice of your hand and accept punishment for what came to pass by mine."

Sharah waited with head low for the Count to speak. She'd said all she'd wanted to say. Now it was a matter of knowing how well it had been received.

"And so it shall be!" Sharah looked up at the feminine voice that broke the quiet. Sharah tried not to smile as she saw her ultimate skeleton key pop the last lock open. Coming here, acting the part of noble warrior, and even presenting herself for punishment. It hadn't been about convincing the Count or his court. It was about winning over his wife. Everyone knew who truly ruled here. Count Caro had no backbone and gave over to his wife every single time. So getting anything meant convincing that woman. And given how Countess Alessia Caro was out of her seat with a fierce expression on her face, Sharah's speech had done the job.

Countess Alessia Caro declared, "This atrocity must not go unanswered. That we permitted such evil-doers within our walls is beyond understanding. I call all Leyawiin to arms against the Blackwoods. They must be driven out if we are ever to be secure again!" Well, the woman was properly worked up now. All the better.

The Countess spoke to the warrior still on her knee, "You have done honorably by the Order of the White Stallion, Sir Sharah. We all profit from your lawful pursuits of the unlawful. And so must you do it again. You will fight against these criminals within our walls. And when all of them have been killed or imprisoned, and that foul tree has been destroyed, you shall have earned a pardon for any crimes you have committed."

Sharah resisted a quirked smile. _'Does that include theft of Elder Scrolls?'_

Just to be certain this would be the final decision, she glanced at the Count, who had never really been able to hold his wife back. Especially not when her racist views came into play. And what would do that better than a mostly Beast-folk mercenary group who turned out to be crazed killers? Countess Caro had all she needed to legitimately attack those she hated. Or have them attacked. Sure enough, he didn't look the least bit resistant to what Countess Alessia was saying.

'_Thank you, Countess. Finally, your being a racist twit does some good.'_

The Count did try to seem in charge. He stood up and next to his wife, "Let the city guard and the Order of the White Stallion be mobilized against the Blackwood Company. And the Fighters Guild as well. Let them help defend our city. Blackwood's charter is revoked and I order that they be arrested, and killed if they resist. And that Hist tree is to be destroyed on sight."

Sharah added quickly, "Be wary, my lord. The Hist sap increases their strength and stamina and drives them to madness. Care should be taken in confronting them."

"Let it be done then. Go forth, all defenders of Leyawiin. And may the Nine show you favor."

Sharah stood and bowed at the dismissal. There were plenty of guards and knights in attendance here, and they all jumped to prepare for what would very clearly be a fight within the walls. The guard was already forming up, the present knights hurried to assemble. Sharah used the flurry of activity to grab Oreyn and leave.

They were soon out the castle doors and walking down the streets of Leyawiin toward the guildhall.

"Well, I think that went well," Sharah commented.

Oreyn shook his head, "You had me worried in there, Wolf."

Sharah actually grinned, "Why, Oreyn? Everything went as planned. Better, actually."

He jerked to look at her, "…you knew that was going to happen. That the Countess was going to—"

"—finally get proof that Beast-folk are 'evil' and have an excuse to have them attacked, imprisoned or killed? Yes. I gave her a real-life example where her racist views were perfectly accurate. And an excuse to take physical action against her 'most hated enemy'. I actually expected her to be a bit more resistant. I guess I overestimated her sensibility."

"It was still a risk to put yourself out there like that," he berated her, "What if they hadn't been so understanding? What if they had arrested you?"

Sharah looked over at him gently, "Countess Caro is a simple woman. For her, Beast-folk are bad and Nibeneans are good. We got the best response from me taking after my mother. I look pure Imperial to her. So if I came to her and told her about the 'evil' Beast-folk, and asked for the opportunity to fight them, why shouldn't she favor me?"

She faced back toward the path, "But you're right, it was a risk. But it was worth it. This way, the guild gets out of this clean. No dishonor and no blame for the action taken against Blackwood. And that's the important part. Not whether or not I spend time in prison."

"That part matters to some of us," Oreyn remarked softly.

Sharah smiled, "Let's get the guild together. We don't want to miss our own party."

The two of them increased their pace to a trot and made for the guilds plaza, only a few minutes ahead of the wave of guards and Leyawiin knights that soon flooded the streets.

**Only one more chapters for the Fighters Guild questline. Then, on to...well, you'll see.**

**Leave a review if you liked it. Or even if you didn't like it.**


	36. Through the Fire and Into the Frying Pan

**Alriiiiight! Another chapter and the last of the Fighters Guild questline. Let me know what you think of it.**

Sharah's pair order from Bruma did the Fighters Guild credit in Leyawiin as well. The trio stuck together. Then there was Ragar and Sherina, Brodras and S'Kasha, and Sharah and Oreyn. Once inside, she really wished she'd had the option to just sneak in and burn the place up last night. Blackwood had had the chance to set up barricades and defenses. Bastards. Even with the Leyawiin guard and the Order of the White Stallion there, it was a fight for every inch. Blackwood had probably been drinking Hist sap like water too, because they fought like berserkers, mostly mad for all their training. Sharah was glad she couldn't remember what had happened while under the sap's influence. She must have looked like a demon. Worse even than when her wolf took over.

The guard and warriors and knights met Blackwood on every front. They pressed for the stairs and the basement, breaking through and climbing over the upturned tables and chairs that had been arranged to be obstacles. Blackwood had seen the assault coming and was determined to keep what they had, even if the city was set on expunging them.

The battle raged, but Sharah and Oreyn had their own objective. She'd described the interior to him. While the main battle was fought, the two of them weaved through the madness to the one door that mattered. Oreyn kept the fight off her while Sharah dealt with the lock. There wasn't anyone guarding it. But considering how crazy the whole building was right now, they probably figured the solid bolt was enough. Or they'd just gone crazy enough to forget their priorities.

And it was a good lock. Very sturdy. Still…mortal lock, meet daedric artifact. No contest. So in the midst of the battle for the building, Sharah and Oreyn slipped through the door into the basement chamber.

The first part of the stairway wasn't lit, and the door was thick enough to muffle the fighting above. Ri'Zakar had spared no expense for the security of his tree. But the quiet meant it was easy to hear a twirl of sound coming from somewhere below. And the air was tinted with the scent of that sap. It all felt wrong.

The stairway ran straight down, then took a sharp turn to the left. There was light reflecting up from beyond the turn. Sharah and Oreyn exchanged some nonverbal communication and crept down the stairway together, both with weapons drawn. They lined up against the immediate wall. Sharah crouched and peered around the corner.

She could see some of the room down below. Some very large glass tanks, a moving mechanism that was only partially visible, and some foliage hanging down that did not belong indoors. The Hist tree. But nothing living that she could see. Yet. Sharah backed up and cast her life detect spell. Two life forces below, unmoving and probably concealed. Sharah would bet her manor in Anvil they were both mages.

More silent hand motions passed between the Fighters. Then Sharah leapt out and barreled down the stair. The mages reacted quickly, having heard the door above open and close. Sharah dodged the bolts of lightning, thanking her magicka resistant Viper-eye ring which absorbed some of the energy when a bolt found its mark, lessening an agonizing strike to a seriously painful sting. With the mage flushed out of hiding to attack her, Oreyn had a clear shot to his target. He stepped out close behind her and hurling his mace through the air with stupendous accuracy. It struck one of the mages dead-on and the Argonian crumpled.

By that time Sharah had reached the second. She grabbed a hold of his fine clothes and wrenched him around and threw him against one of the glass tanks. The tank shattered on contact, spilling its contents out over the floor. Divines and Daedra, as though she hadn't already had enough of this thrice damned sap. Now it was all over her pants and boots. Sharah prayed it wouldn't stain or she was going to have to put in a request for new Wolf armor in the near future.

With their opponents out, or possibly dead on Oreyn's account, the two fighters cast their eyes upon the source of their troubles: the Hist tree. It was an abomination of nature, pure and simple. The tree itself was large and sturdy, rising high from the basement floor up the isolated chamber and the first level. But the leaves were a sickly green color, and the bark was pale and thin. Both notes of an unhealthy tree.

And beneath the foliage was shown the true defilement. Metal fixtures driven into the wood held glass tubes in place. Some of the glass was colored from sap, drawing the tree's life fluid from it. Others held fluids moving in the other direction, pumping some unrecognizable fluid into the flesh of the tree. And the pumping was spurred on by a pair of great machines that were bolted on either side of the Hist. Hell, they were bolted into the base of the trunk, serving as shackles for the prisoner they were bleeding at a frightful rate.

Sharah stared at the spectacle, and recalled her dreams from the sap. "…screaming trees…," she whispered.

Oreyn growled beside her, "This is unthinkable. The Hist are sacred to Argonians. I can't imagine how any one of them would sit by and let _this_ be done." He glared at the two still mages, "Let alone assist."

She shook away her shock and looked at the pumps, "We need to get this done. I think…those pumps should be first. We can find an axe for the tree when there's no danger of getting caught in those mechanisms."

Oreyn retrieved his mace and both of them inspected the pumps for possible off switches or way's to block the machines' wheels. The hum was loud, but Sharah still heard the clank of armor as it came down the stairs. "Oreyn! Look out!" She yanked out her dagger and sent it hurtling across the room. But it pinged harmlessly off Ri'Zakar's heavy cuirass and he finished charging for her companion, swinging his heavy battle axe for the mer's head.

Oreyn dodged and rolled away, yelling, "Destroy that tree! I'll handle him."

Ri'Zakar bared his teeth and hissed at her, "Traitor! Fighters Guild spy! Your life is forfeit. You will all die!"

Sharah leapt back to the other side of the tree, avoiding the warriors as they converged. The crash of their battle sounded over the hum of the machinery, but it didn't dull out what they said.

"We will exterminate the Fighters Guild! And Blackwood will rise in its place!"

"You stupid bastard! Can't you see what you're doing? You've tainted the Hist, and it's tainting you in return. You're doing nothing but harm," Oreyn roared back over the clang of their weapons.

"You are the fool. You are the weak ones. The Hist will make us strong. It will carry us forward until all of Tamriel knows our name!" Ri'Zakar declared.

Oreyn growled, "Not if I have anything to say about it."

She focused on finding a way to stop the mechanisms. Two lose pipes set aside caught her attention. Sharah grabbed the first and hefted it carefully. Watching the turn of the wheel she waited for her chance, then thrust the metal pipe into the gears.

The desired affect was immediate. The gears lodged around the intrusion, the wheel seized up, its ridges catching only partially as it jerked while trying to turn without success. Then it all let loose in a flurry of kinetic energy. Gears ricocheted out, the internal components cracked or broke entirely so that the entire pump shuddered and spasmed, blowing out in places and crimping in others.

Sharah dropped to the ground as another glass tank shattered when a flying metal shard smashed into it and another flood of sap hit the floor. She didn't wait for an invitation, but went for the second pipe. She shouted a warning to Oreyn, "Take cover!" then with another timed shove, the second pump went like the first, blowing apart and crumpling inward.

The pipes from the tree cracked and broke, sending their liquid falling to the floor. The metal wedges that held the pumps in the tree contorted and cracked the trunk open in places, leaving deep gashes in the wood where the sap ran out sluggishly. The entire floor was running with the damned stuff.

Sharah looked toward the combatants and saw Oreyn clambering out from behind a large barrel, apparently unhurt. Ri'Zakar was laid out from the blast and she saw a shard of metal embedded in the front of his cuirass. Sharah hoped it was bigger than it looked and had sliced him through. But no such luck. Ri'Zakar rolled over, slightly dazed but still mobile and soon to be back in fighting form.

The woman reached for Umbra on her waist, but didn't get the chance to draw it. Something in the first pump had caught on fire and was spitting out embers and sparks. Some lit on the tree and the metalwork. But some fell upon the sap soaked floor. The flames caught sluggishly, but spread. It wasn't hard to know where this was headed. Sharah leapt up onto a table and over the floor toward the stairs, avoiding being caught in the flame's advance. Bypassing the Pakseech, she grabbed Oreyn's elbow and pulled him the rest of the way up.

"We have to get out of here," she said. Oreyn looked across the room and saw what she saw. Then they both turned their backs on the Khajiit and fled up the stairs as the fire spread across the floor and up onto the tree. Ri'Zakar crawled toward his prize, wailing as the fire consumed everything the basement had to offer.

Sharah felt the heat on her back all the way up and out the basement door. They shoved it closed, providing a temporary barrier to the heat. The battle had moved further up and down into Blackwood, leaving the first floor mostly clear save for the bodies. No Fighters Guilds among them, thank the Nine.

"Head to the upper floors," Sharah told him, "Get everyone out. I'll hit the other basement."

Oreyn nodded and they took off in their respective directions. Downstairs, Mazoga was among those battling. Sharah threw open the door and roared at the top of her lungs, "Everyone out! This place is burning. Everyone out!"

She kept it up, heads turning one by one as the message seeped in. Soon combatants were flowing up the stairs. Blackwood, on their training mat, gave cheers of victory as their opponents retreated. Then the heat from the Hist room crept through the walls, and some of the less sap-high mercenaries realized exactly why the enemy was fleeing. Sharah didn't try to convince them to leave. It would be too much effort to spare saving those drugged-up idiots. And she needed to make sure her own people were out.

There were soldiers coming down the stairs from the upper floors as well. And Sharah heard Oreyn yelling on the second level. Sharah could feel the floor getting warm, and there were flames licking out around the Hist room's door. Not to mention the acrid smoke that was pouring into the upper floors. There was no stopping it now. Sharah doubted even the Mages Guild could quench the fire at this point.

Guards, knights, fighters and Blackwoods all ran for the exit, jostling to get out while the smoke became denser. Some supported wounded comrades. And most of the bodies left behind were Blackwoods.

"Oreyn! Everyone out?"

The mer came down the stairs close behind Ragar and Sherina with three Leyawiin guards behind him, "That's all of ours."

"Let's get out then!"

Sharah urged them past her, wanting to be the last one out just for the sake of being certain she really was the last one.

"You!"

She turned to see a familiar face over by the basement. Maglir.

Oreyn paused beside her, but she urged him, "Go. I'll handle this."

He looked ready to argue, but she and Maglir had unfinished business. And this was not a matter for Oreyn. A moment later, Sharah and Maglir looked to be the only ones in the room. The Bosmer appeared crazed. No wonder considering the amount of sap he must have ingested during his membership here.

"You!" he yelled again, "You've ruined everything! I had a job. I had a home! You've taken everything!"

Sharah didn't even raise her voice, "You had a home and job with the Fighters Guild, Maglir. You had a family, too. But I supposed that didn't matter much. It was all about the gold for you, wasn't it?" His face contorted, but she paid it no mind. "Blackwood is done, Maglir. They're done hurting people. It's over." She saw his grip adjust on his sword, then her eyes flicked back to his face, "Don't strike at me, Maglir. Just walk out the door. You'll spend some time in prison, but at least you'll be alive. But if you attack me, I'm going to kill you. Don't doubt that."

His face became a masque of anger, "You'll kill me? You'll kill me?! NO! I'll kill you!"

The Bosmer raised his weapon high and charged her through the smoke and heat. Sharah watched him come, tracking the sway of his shoulders with each pace as the winter stream flowed through her veins. Then, when he came within range, she raised Umbra's point and let Maglir drive himself upon it.

Umbra had a mind of its own. And its performance depended on its attitude. There were days when it could cut steel like thin leather. This was one of them. Umbra went straight through the fine Blackwood cuirass and out the other side. Maglir's rage turned to shock and his sword clattered from his hands. Sharah watched the blood well up in his mouth and, when he sagged, Sharah let his own weight carry him off the edge he'd been impaled upon. So their business was finished. The little bastard would betray no one else ever again. And he would never again betray _her_.

Looking down at the body, she felt a sense of satisfaction. Not just that she'd finally squelched the little fetcher for what he'd done. More that she was done with something greater. No more incessant drive to kill. No more underlying bloodlust. Her inner wolf no longer whining that she ought to slit another throat. She'd killed a lot of people in the last couple months. A couple dozen, certainly. And now, she felt satisfied with the number. Sharah wiped her sword clean, sheathed it and hurried out of the building without looking back.

Outside, the plaza was filled with people: combatants from the attack, Blackwoods taken prisoner and citizens come to spectate. And all of them were giving the Blackwood building a wide birth. There was a make-shift medical station set up for the wounded. She took account of all her guildmates and was relieved they hadn't lost anyone. She joined them by the large tree just as the basement windows blew out from the heat and pressure. Everyone jumped, but the blast hadn't done more than startle the masses.

Sharah watched the fire flicker in the lower windows and the smoke pour out from the upper ones. She could imagine some Blackwoods might still come running out. They'd be arrested like the others who were now handcuffed, under guard and awaiting whatever due process the Countess would consent to.

It was done. Blackwood was defeated. Countess Caro would spread the word amongst her royal circles and to the other Counts and Countesses about what had happened here and what they had done. No one would welcome Blackwood anywhere again. Not that they'd be much of a threat now. Their leaders dead, their Hist tree destroyed and their advantage removed. They'd be just another mercenary group. And Fighters Guild's last serious competition was gone.

Not that all was well. Blackwood wouldn't have had this opportunity if it hadn't been for the Guild's own master. Fighters Guild had survived this adversary, as they had survived the Companions. But how long would it be before another threat rose up? How long before the guild was pushed to the edge again? Something had to be done about Vilena. And it needed to be now. No more waiting. No more hoping she would suddenly recover and return to them. The Guild needed their master. And Sharah was through waiting for her.

Oreyn came to stand beside Sharah, looking at the building as it was slowly consumed, "Maglir?"

"Attacked me. I killed him." Brief and matter of fact. And no invitation to press further. "…sap doesn't normally burn like that, does it?"

The mer shook his head, "Must be that additive. All the better that the tree will take the whole building with it. The last thing we need is crates of that sap getting out into the world."

Sharah nodded. Blackwood probably had some of it shipped to their groups around Cyrodiil. But they'd run out fast at the rate they seemed to drink the stuff. And, like Oreyn said, the rest of the sap would burn up with its source.

After a few moments watching, Sharah said, "I'm heading back to Chorrol. It's past time someone talked to Vilena. And she needs to know what's been happening."

Oreyn sighed, "I thought you might say that."

"Will you come with me?" Sharah asked. It was time to speak to the Guildmaster. Regardless of the consequences.

She caught his nod out of the corner of her eye and continued watching the Blackwood building deteriorate. Some Blackwoods came stumbling out of the door. They were swiftly apprehended and arrested. Pretty soon the flames started flickering out of the first floor windows, cracking the glass and leaving the stones of the foundation blackened beneath.

And as Sharah watched the building burn, something occurred to her. It was almost the end of Evening Star, wasn't it? In fact, today was the 29th, wasn't it? She eased back and crossed her arms, watching the fire spread and wondering how many sap-hyped Blackwoods were dying inside from the heat or suffocation. _Happy birthing day to me._

XXX

_Sharah's face was stained with her tears. She wondered if her mother would ever embrace her. If she would ever pick her up again. Naturally, thinking about this only made Sharah cry more. What was she supposed to do to make her mother love her? Had she done something wrong? Little Sharah tucked in her chin, trying to hide the next wave of sorrow._

_She didn't hear the brush of fabric across the floor. Then, to her surprise, two hands came around her and lifted her off the ground. A zealous smile broke out across her face as Sharah's mother wrapped her arms around the child and drew her close. Sharah squirmed closer, grasping her mother's clothing and snuggling into the warm embrace that she'd been waiting so long for._

_Her mother rocked her gently and cooed, "I'm sorry, my dear. I know you've been very patient. And such a good girl, meeting your Price without any prompting. I'm so proud. We can bring you home now."_

_Sharah's mother turned to the table and picked up the black clad doll she had been manipulating all this time. She tucked it into Sharah's arms, saying, "This is for you. He'll keep you safe when you need it. And now that you're ready, I'll send him to you." She pressed a kiss to Sharah's head, and whispered, "Try not to make it too easy on him."_

_Sharah wrapped her arms around her mother's gift and snuggled closer, not ever wanting to be parted again. From behind, Sharah felt her Father's presence draw near and His dark and dreadful hand come to rest on her head. She sighed in utter contentment. This was home. She was home._

XXX

Sharah and Oreyn traveled north in much the same way as they'd come south for Blackheart: Sharah riding, Oreyn running. By the time they reached Chorrol, Sharah was tense and fuming. She'd spent the whole time going over everything she wanted to say to Vilena. She'd started out intending for it to be a serious report. Then it turned into a lecture. Now, as the Chorrol city walls came into view, there was a straight-up rant running through her head. Vilena Donton was going to get an earful from the Wolf, that was for certain.

Sharah's fervent mental compositions had kept her from really noticing how little Oreyn spoke during their journey. He'd just kept on her heel and, for the most part, kept his piece. But as Sharah stalked through the city gates, the mer caught her arm. Sharah, already feeling her prepared flurry of a speech welling up in her throat, rounded on Oreyn almost angrily. But she was brought up short by the look on his face.

Oreyn stood looking at her for a moment, as though really seeing the wolf in her on the surface just now. And had to set his own words before he spoke, "Wolf. I know this needs to be done. And I know you have every right to be frustrated with Vilena…I wish I could go with you…"

The Wolf took a breath and tried to keep her voice even, "You're not allowed in the guildhall, Oreyn. And I doubt she'd hear any of this from you."

"I know. But that's not her fault. I did have plenty of opportunities to speak straight to her, and I never did. Just…" He looked at her pleadingly, "…just be gentle with her. Please. She's suffered a great deal."

Sharah met his eyes and said, "I'm sorry, Oreyn. But I can't do that. I know she's suffered. Many of us have. But the time for gentle is over. Regardless of what's happened, regardless of what that woman has been through, she is our Guildmaster. We need her. She doesn't need gentle right now. She needs a proper kick to the seat of her pants."

Oreyn let go and sighed, "I thought you'd say something like that. I'll wait at home. Come let me know how it went afterward." The mer turned down the street toward the chapel, and Sharah strode in the direction of the Great Oak Plaza.

Sharah was walking toward her expulsion. She'd known that most of the way up here. And after deciding what she was going to say, it had become a certainty. But Sharah would be damned if she wasn't going out with a bang.

It was funny. Sharah thought she'd be a bit more concerned that she was going to lose her place in the Guild. But the more she thought about it during the travel, the more she realized the Guild had already become distant in her mind. She hadn't noticed it until now but ever since she'd come back from Forsaken Mine her connection with the Guild hadn't been the same. And Sharah had been too…everything else…to notice.

She'd been grief stricken just afterward. Numbed out until the business with the Companions. Driven by stubborn purpose through the Companions, the revitalization, and Blackwood. But now, as odd as it had been, as attached as she'd been to the Guild for so long, as much as she depended on them for support and companionship and all that…Sharah realized she wouldn't be so devastated with being kicked out and cut off. Maybe it was the loss of Lashana and Cargas. Perhaps it was just finding her comrades dead as she had. But it had changed something for her.

Actually, losing Oreyn would be more difficult. He'd helped her through so much and they'd gotten close over the last year. She'd miss him more than the Guild, Sharah was sure of that. Maybe, since they'd both be Fighters Guild castaways, he'd want some company. They were both skilled warriors. They could make their living together as freelance fighters. And it was probably no more or less healthy for him to be alone than for her.

Yes, once this business with Vilena was done, Sharah would do what she could to stick with Oreyn. They'd both need it. And they could look out for the Guild from the outside to make sure things went alright. But first things first. Vilena needed a good talking to. And Sharah had more than enough to say in that regard.

The Wolf shoved the Fighters guildhall doors open so hard that they ricocheted loud off the walls and closed themselves behind her after she'd stepped in. Her eyes darted around the first floor and spotted Sabine Laul who was still getting over the surprise of the entrance.

"Where's the Guildmaster?" Sharah snapped.

Sabine froze when their eyes met and blustered a couple of words, then jerked a finger straight up. Sharah's glare followed the gesture towards the ceiling. Then she made for the stairs, taking them two at a time. She grabbed the rail as she mounted the last step and wrenched herself around hard enough to make her innards shift and strode for the second flight. Vilena was about to get the report of her life.

"Vilena!" Sharah yelled, her legs eating up the height and distance to the Guildmaster's office. Vilena herself looked startled as Sharah came into view. Perhaps her shout had been louder than intended.

The Guildmaster quickly recognized who had come calling and, with the recognition, recovered some of her strength of will, "You were told to stay out of my sight. I assume you're here to tender your resig—"

"Be silent!" Sharah ordered, coming up to the other side of the desk, "I'm here to speak. And you're going to listen to the end."

Vilena was shocked briefly into silence but recovered her indignation and rose in her seat, "How dare you!"

Sharah slammed her hands down on the desk, "Shut up! I more than dare. And if you're going to expel me, you'll do it after I'm done. Now sit down!" The Guildmaster was once again shocked into silence. It must have been years, decades even, since anyone had taken that tone with her. If anyone ever had. "Sit! _Down_!" Vilena's knees bent, intentionally or not, and she dropped back into her chair.

Sharah snorted in satisfaction. In her head, everything she'd put together and intended to say all wanted out at once. Sharah put her feet to the floor and paced a couple of times, dragging order from the chaos and putting her flurry of thoughts into some understandable sequence.

"Do you have any idea what the Guild has been through the last couple years? What's been happening the last few months? Do you? Do you have any idea what's been happening since you closed yourself off? And how it's affected the Guild?" The Guildmaster was silent, watching Sharah's pattern of movement.

Sharah growled, "No, I didn't think so." Her eyes flicked to the back of the room. "My guess is all the reports are probably back there," she said, jabbing her hand at the now returned pile of forgotten paperwork that had been gradually breeding on the table at the back of the office. Sharah glared back at the Guildmaster, "After you canned Oreyn, how many did you actually read before going back to sulking?"

She faced Vilena completely and her pace became a prowl, "So let me inform you what you've been missing, _Master_. We were attacked by Companions. Companions! If we hadn't caught it in time they would have annihilated the Bruma guildhall. We lost two members as it was. Did you know about that? No! You just left the reports to collect dust.

"How about Blackwood, Vilena? Been keeping up about that? The ones who made deals with the bastard who killed your first-born. The ones who did kill your second! Which you would know if you'd paid the slightest amount of interest!"

The Guildmaster's eyes were widened now and Sharah went at it, "They paid Azani Blackheart off so they could set up shop in Leyawiin. Blackheart! The one who killed Vitellus. And they ambushed and killed Viranus and seven more of our guildmates in Forsaken Mine. And what did you do about it? You expelled Oreyn and then nothing!"

Vilena made to open her mouth, but Sharah cut her off, "I'm not finished! Oreyn has been nothing but dedicated to this Guild, and to you. He kept up everything while you wallowed and he tried to do right by Viranus when you wouldn't. He kept us going. He avenged Vitellus's death. Something you should have called for the day you found out. And you didn't even bother even finding out who killed Viranus!"

Sharah stalked up and down the office again, "Divines and Daedra, woman, what's wrong with you?! You think you're the only one to suffer? You think you're the only one who lost people you loved? We all did. But your name should have been counted amongst the dead rather than let you live as you have."

Sharah came to a stop, trying to draw in the reins on her frustration. "I know what you've been through. For all you frustrate the hell out of me, I understand and sympathize. Truly. But you are our Guildmaster. You are our leader. You do not have the _right_ to sit up here and ignore your duties when there are people depending on you. You didn't even leave your responsibilities to Oreyn before dropping everything for your grief."

A few rapid steps and she was around the desk. Sharah yanked open the lower drawer to reveal two reports that looked to have been rapidly stowed there when Vilena had been startled. One of them worn, the other only a few months old. Before the Guildmaster could protest, Sharah yanked them about and slapped them down on the table. Stabbing her finger into the front, Sharah snapped, "You think this is going to bring them back? You think staring at these is how best to honor their memory?"

The young warrior glared down at the master of her guild, "We took care of Blackheart. Oreyn and I. While you were somehow maintaining your useless existence, we found the bastard and Oreyn killed him. We avenged Vitellus. And we found out Blackwood killed Viranus and dealt with them, too. Their headquarters is probably still burning in Leyawiin, along with the tainted Hist tree whose sap they were drinking. We've maintained and rallied the halls and kept the Guild from falling apart because there was no one else to do it."

Sharah crossed her arms, "The Companions nearly destroyed a guildhall. The Blackwood Company was well on their way to ousting the Fighters Guild from the province. Threats both, but none as dangerous as you." Vilena's eyes darted up. Far from angry, they looked frightened at the prospect of hearing what was next.

The Wolf growled as she leaned forward, "You nearly killed the Guild, Vilena, by doing nothing. We had no one to look to for strength and we suffered for it. Ever since you checked out we've been losing members. We've been losing contracts. We needed you. We still need you."

Sharah came out to the front of the desk, "The Guild has a shot now. Our competition has been defeated. Members and contracts will return, but it won't mean diddly squat without someone at the helm. It is the Guildmaster's job to lead. To be the Guild's strength and guide. To be someone the rest can look to. We need that now more than ever or we'll be right back on the edge. So you had better step up. Or step down."

Sharah the Wolf took a proper breath and leaned back, satisfied. Well, that had been a long time building, hadn't it? And she had most certainly crossed the line a dozen times or more. But she'd said it. She'd come up here and lectured the Guildmaster, rather extensively. She was most certainly going to lose her patch for it, but no one could say she hadn't done everything she could to put the Guild right. She'd need to decide what she did next with her life. Decide exactly how she was going to make her living now. And try to talk Oreyn into accompanying her. But that would come as soon as Vilena closed her mouth and actually issued words.

Sharah managed not to twitch with impatience while she waited for the hammer to fall, and to ignore the odd feeling of eyes on her back. Vilena Donton finally shut her jaw and swallowed with difficulty, "I…I had no idea it had gotten so bad." She looked down at the reports for an agonizingly long period, her fingers moving lightly over the files. "…you are right. I have been…blind to the Guild. Blind to everything except…But no more. This cannot continue."

Then, finally, her hands moved to the edge of the desk and gripped it as she lifted herself off the chair. The Guildmaster looked over the desk at the Guild's Champion, some glimmer of her old fire returning to her face, "Now we must speak about what you have done. And how it affects your place in this Guild."

Sharah stood straight and lifted her chin. She regretted nothing. Even if it resulted in expulsion. Let Vilena do what she wanted. Sharah would take it proudly.

Vilena's voice was calm and even, "I am stripping you of your rank of Champion. Your actions regarding the Guild are unbefitting of that position." Sharah waited for the final expulsion. The Guildmaster's hand lifted to where she had her Master's guild patch strapped to her cuirass. Sharah watched every movement, a bit curiously, as Vilena unattached the patch and held it in her hand. She stroked the leather gently, then stood straight herself, "Your actions are unbefitting of a Champion. But indicative of a true leader. I am hereby naming you Master of the Fighters Guild. Effective immediately."

Sharah felt her skin blanch slightly and blinked a couple times. Wait…this wasn't at all what was supposed to happen…

Vilena Donton came around the desk to stand in front of her, "I have been a fool. And you. You have been brave and true." She took Sharah's hand, placed the patch therein and closed her fingers around it.

Sharah's eyes dropped to her hand, then darted back up. Her throat worked but the only thing it could muster was, "…what…?"

"The Guild does need someone they can look to. But that is beyond me now. The Guild has passed me by. You are its future." She met Sharah's eyes, her own reflecting sadness and solemn acceptance, "Take your responsibilities seriously. I wish you the best of luck."

Sharah opened her mouth but, again, only one word dropped out. "What?"

Vilena smiled sadly, "Oreyn was steadfast and dedicated. I believe he would serve you well as guild-second. As he always did. You would do well to rely more on his wisdom and experience than I did. Because you have many duties ahead of you. Good luck." Vilena walked to the stairs in the silence, leaving Sharah dumbfounded.

She blinked again. What had just happened? She looked down at the patch in her hands. The symbol of the Guildmaster stared back up at her: a mounted knight, crowned and bearing the Fighters Guild symbol. But…this wasn't right. She was supposed to be expelled not…Guildmaster? But what was she supposed to…? She had to find Oreyn.

Getting down the stairs on wooden legs was a challenge. Sharah stumbled around toward the second flight and came to a dead halt. The entire residency of the guildhall was clustered under the stairway, hidden from view of the office but within easy listening distance. Damn the open build of this accursed hall. How long had they been there? How much had they heard?

She got all the answer she needed when a rare orcish grin broke out across Kurz gro-Baroth's face. "Master."

Sharah went still, then mumbled some 'excuse me' and cut for the door. What had just happened? She'd been made Guildmaster? No…no, that couldn't have just happened. She was going to be expelled. She'd known that. No one in their right mind would do anything less. But…this guild patch in her hand…She needed to find Oreyn.

Sharah was just about frantic by the time she got to Oreyn's shack and burst in the door, "Oreyn!"

He stood up quickly, none too reassured by Sharah's face and tone, "Breathe. What happened? Did you talk to Vilena? How did she react?"

Sharah could not get her damned mouth to work. "I…I just…I…And she…" Sharah thrust the Guildmaster's patch before his eyes, "…me!"

The mer's years of wisdom showed as he gathered her meaning despite the madness of whatever was coming out of her mouth. Far from how she expected him to react, Oreyn grinned, "Made you Guildmaster, did she? Congratulations."

Hearing that from him, Sharah finally exploded, "NO! Not 'congratulations'. This …this is a nightmare, that's what it is!" She hit the floor of his shack with her boots, running a hand into her hair and fisting it harshly, "I…I can't be a Guildmaster. I just turned 24. I don't know how to run a guild."

She collapsed into a chair with her head in her hands. How could Vilena have done this to her? To the Guild? The only thing worse than having a useless old woman for a leader was having a no-clue rookie in the position. And the Guild's Master was supposed to…Divines and Daedra, she didn't even know what the Master was supposed to do.

Sharah abruptly stared at the Master's patch. Then she shot up out of the chair and thrust out the patch, "You take it! You know how to run the guild. You did it when Vilena was away. You can do it now."

He backed off, "No. Vilena gave this to you. And, frankly, I couldn't agree more. You earned this."

"But I don't know how," Sharah wailed. "I can't be in charge of a guild. I do _contracts_. I…I hate paperwork. I'm gonna bring the whole Guild down around our ears. I'm gonna muck it all up!"

She was unraveling fast. Oreyn saw it and walked over to put his arms around her. Sharah leaned into him, shaking a little and trying desperately not to lose it completely. Oreyn was shaking some himself…Oh, _damn_ the bastard, he was laughing!

"This is _not._ _Funny_!" she cried, not lifting her head from his cuirass.

But he didn't stop chuckling, although he did pat her back gently, "It's going to be fine. You'll do fine."

"I've only been six years in the Guild, Oreyn. I can't do something like this on my own." Vilena's last recommendation popped into her head. Sharah looked up and grabbed the collar of Oreyn's cuirass desperately, "Be my second!"

"What?"

Her grip on the metal jerked slightly, "If you won't take Guildmaster be the guild-second again. Please! You have to! You know as much about guild matters as anyone."

Oreyn scoffed, "Pah! I'm an old man. I've done my time. And I was actually looking forward to retiring." Sharah could feel the blood drain out of her face. And her expression must have been something rivaling desperation because he burst out laughing, "Then again…I suppose someone has to keep you in line. I'll do it…Guildmaster."

Sharah couldn't help it. She threw her arms around his neck, "Oh thank you, Oreyn! Thank you, thank you, thank you."

He laughed again and returned the gesture. But hugs of that caliber were generally uncomfortable in heavy armor, so they let go before too long with Sharah wiping at the moisture that had collected at the corners of her eyes.

Oreyn was the one who broke the silence, "You gonna put that on, or not?"

She stared at the Guildmaster's patch again, and then started fumbling with her strap as though it was the first time she'd ever tried to take it off. Oreyn sighed and came to her rescue. He helped her to remove the strap and replace her Champion patch with that of the Guild's Master. Sharah just sort of stared off as he made the switch and replaced it on her arm. By the Nine, how had this happened?

"It's going to be fine, Wolf."

"How do you know?" she asked, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "I was only supposed to be second, remember? And you said I wasn't ready."

"At the time," the mer replied, tightening the buckle into place, "You've done a lot since then. Grown a lot."

Sharah remained unconvinced. This was such an immense development. "I don't know how to lead a whole guild." She'd had that option with the Thieves Guild and Nocturnal's Cowl, and studiously avoided the Gray Fox's 'Guildmaster' responsibilities before they came to her. How had _this_ happened?

"This may come as a surprise to you, Wolf, but you've been doing it for a couple months now."

She rubbed at the patch, feeling the new pattern that adorned her arm, "That was…temporary. And extreme circumstances."

Oreyn sat down, placing himself in the line of her vision, "But the Guild followed you. You may not see it, Wolf, but the rest of us do. You're young, yes. But you've got an old soul. And you're going to do fine."

Sharah sighed and hung her head, like the weight of her new responsibility had fallen around her neck, "If you say so." It was a moment longer for her to acclimatize enough to look up at him and ask, "So…what do we do now?"

Oreyn stood and offered his hand, "Now we see to the Guild."

Sharah looked at the offering, then put her hand in his. He pulled her to her feet and held the door open for her to step outside.

It had really happened. Sharah was still grasping at the 'how'. But it had. She was Sharah the Wolf, Guildmaster of the Fighters Guild. And, regardless of how, it just was. She was their Guildmaster. And the Guild needed her. They needed her like she had known for so long that they needed Vilena. Sharah sighed, the responsibility weighted her down again. But it was hers. And if her Guild needed her, then Sharah was going to do whatever they needed of her.

With that thought in mind, Sharah squared her shoulders and she and Oreyn walked toward the Fighters Guild Headquarters.

XXX

"To the Mare!" Sabine declared like a rally cry. And it was similarly echoed by the guildmembers present.

Sharah laughed with them as she let herself be encircled and herded out the door by her eager guildmates. Truth be told, Sharah felt the pressure to perform her duties as Guildmaster. The Guild was, after all, still weak. And while she wasn't sure about exactly what a Guildmaster was supposed to do, the pile of paperwork seemed the first logical step. Which meant she was anxious to finish it all as soon as possible. Then figure out the next thing the Guild needed. And the next. And the next. Sharah had felt it an absolute necessity that she get through that paperwork. And as 'in one go' as possible.

Wait…hadn't she found Oreyn attempting that before? Ah yes, and turned briefly into her mother whilst making sure he took care of himself. Perhaps that would explain why Oreyn had been so insistent that she join the Guild's celebration tonight. He'd persuaded her to let the paperwork wait until the morning, telling her she needed to celebrate her new position before it became a chore and let her guildmates celebrate her as well. It made sense. The Guild needed something happy and needed the opportunity to be joyful about it. And certainly a new Guildmaster was that.

Also, Sharah got the impression that if she'd refused, then Oreyn was liable to actually carry her to the Grey Mare. The way he talked, it didn't seem to matter to him that Sharah outranked him. She doubted it ever would.

Speaking of the mer, she didn't see him amongst the throng of Fighters Guild that was moving toward the Mare. He'd been with them at the door. Failing to spot her second, Sharah extricated herself from her guildmates, "You lot go ahead. I'll catch up." There was opposition voiced, but she insisted. After all, it wouldn't do for her to lose her second within her first twenty-four hours as Guildmaster. And this was as much a party for him as for her.

Although…as she watched her comrades go, Sharah noticed how much fewer they were. Barely more than a half dozen fighters. When she'd been officially stationed in Chorrol…before Forsaken Mine…the hall always seemed full of her guildmates. Now it was hard not to notice how far they'd fallen. How many they'd lost. Even if tonight was to be a celebration, the Guild wouldn't need a second table to seat their number.

Oreyn wasn't in the guildhall. On the back porch, Sharah thought she saw movement in the direction of the chapel. Not exactly looking forward to the attention waiting for her at the Mare, Sharah headed after, hoping she was catching up with Oreyn. She didn't get close enough to recognize him until they were approaching the back of the chapel. It was Oreyn, walking, for whatever reason, into the city's cemetery. Before she could call out to him, Sharah noticed he was not alone here. Vilena Donton stood alone in the dark while Oreyn went toward her, apparently by intent. Sharah held back and stayed quiet.

The former Guildmaster looked up when she heard the footsteps, then went back to her vigil over the headstones when she saw who it was.

Oreyn stopped beside her. "I thought I might find you here," he said, the conversation easy to hear in the night's quiet.

Vilena sighed heavily, "And where else would I be?" She stared down at the graves, "A parent should not outlive her children. And I have buried both. And nearly the Guild as well. I…I don't know what to do now." Oreyn didn't say anything, but he stepped up to her and placed a supportive hand on her shoulder. She looked further up the row, "How do you do it Oreyn? You were close to my father. How did you bury him and stay so strong?"

Oreyn replied softly, "I had an oath to keep. He'd come back and haunt me if I didn't."

His hand dropped as Vilena took a few steps and set her hand on a worn gravestone, "I wish I'd known him better."

"He loved you. That's all you need to know. And for all his accomplishments, he always said you were his greatest."

She bowed her head, "If he could just see me now."

Oreyn said, "He'd still be proud."

She turned on him, "How can you say that? I loved my sons so much that I was blind to everything else happening around me. The only good I've done is step down."

"Come back to the Guild, Vilena," Oreyn said. "Not as Guildmaster. Just as yourself. You can still do good now, and you are still one of us." When the woman made to turn away, he reached out and held her firmly, "You are not alone. Even after everyone you've lost, you are not alone. And it's time for you to remember that again. Come back with me. The Guild is celebrating tonight at the Mare. Come and sit with us."

Vilena sagged and shook her head, "How can I face them after everything I've done?"

"Everyone makes mistakes," he reminded her, looking at the newest headstone, "I've made my share."

"You should have seen her face, Modryn. I just dropped all of that on her and walked out. Even when I try to do right, I am unfair."

"The Wolf? She'll be fine. She'll be better if she has someone else's experience to lean on. And I don't want you spending your days alone anymore. Especially not here."

Vilena looked up at him, "You knew I was coming here?"

"Every night? Yes." Oreyn sighed, "I should have said something sooner. Maybe things wouldn't have gone so far. I promised that I would take care of you. And I did a lousy job of it. I'm sorry. I just saw you so strong all the time. Even after your father and your grandfather, then your husband…I didn't think your boys would affect you as much as it did."

The former Guildmaster replied, "You're not to blame. The fault is mine. You did what you could."

The quiet lengthened as Sharah watched the two standing together without speaking. Oreyn finally said, "We both made mistakes. Blaming ourselves won't help anyone. But we can start making amends tonight. Come with me to the Mare. As your godfather, I insist. It'll be good for you."

Vilena actually chuckled, "You're always looking out for me."

"I have my oath. And after changing your diapers, there was really no going back."

Sharah watched with a smile as Oreyn guided Vilena out of the cemetery and toward the street. They were out of sight before Sharah realized where they were headed and that she should be there already instead of peeping in on a private moment. She sprinted back the way she'd come, cutting through the darker back-streets in an effort to head them off, not wanting to give them any indication that she'd overheard them. Sharah arrived at the Grey Mare's door out of breath but well ahead of the two.

They were elated at her arrival and she took a seat among them. Again, their dwindled number struck her deep, but Sharah resolved that tonight be one of joy. She had a glass in hand and her breath regained before Vilena and Oreyn walked in the door.

At their appearance, Sharah waved to them, "Hey, old-timers. Nice of you to join us."

Oreyn scowled at her without hesitation, "Watch that lip, Wolf. I didn't sign on as your second just to be verbally abused."

Sharah giggled and flashed a grin at Vilena, "Is this what I get to look forward to from now on?"

The former Guildmaster had entered the Mare very reserved, doubtless uncertain how she would be received by the Guild she had failed to lead. Sharah agreed with what she'd heard Oreyn say in the graveyard. Vilena could still do good in the Guild without being Guildmaster. It might even be easier for her to remain around the hall without feeling the pressure of being the Guildmaster. And Sharah knew she'd need the help taking up her new mantle. So she made sure that Vilena had an open invitation to return, in everything from posture to tone to expression.

The older woman hesitated, then a slow smile lengthened her mouth, "Oreyn takes his job very seriously."

"I've noticed," Sharah laughed. Then she slid over, "You're welcome to pull up a bench. I think Kurz was about to embarrass himself."

The guildmates had spent so much time lately walking on eggshells around Vilena that it took a little while for the talk and merriment to pick up again. But once the awkwardness had lessened and the volume increased, Sharah leaned toward her predecessor and said discretely, "Vilena, I was wondering if you would mind sticking around the hall for a while longer. I know I'm gonna be leaning on Oreyn for a while, but I'd appreciate the extra help until I get the hang of this Guildmaster business."

Beneath the surprise, Sharah couldn't tell how much of the woman's expression was guilt and how much was appreciation. None the less, Vilena replied, "Yes. Of course. I'd…be happy to."

Sharah sat back, well satisfied, and saw Oreyn looking at her. She smiled and winked at him over the rim of her tankard. He paused then looked away while shaking his head and giving his version of an exasperated smile. He was probably guessing that she'd somehow overheard their conversation. He always seemed to know about what she did. And he'd probably have a talk with her later about privacy. But Sharah had been trained by the Gray Fox. Being nosy was unavoidable.

It wasn't too much longer before Sabine Laul stood up and called for everyone's attention, "I know tonight's all about the new. But I would like to propose a toast to our former Guildmaster. "She looked down at Vilena, "We know it's been a tough time lately. But we all want you to know that it has been a privilege to follow you."

The elderly Donton bowed her head, clearly feeling unworthy of the praise, "Thank you. But the privilege was mine." Before the silence could get awkward, she lifted her cup toward Sharah, "And a toast to you, Sharah the Wolf. May life never give you more hardship than you can bear."

Sharah raised her tankard with theirs, "To the fallen. And the remembered."

Kurz gro-Baroth was next, "To a bright future."

And Oreyn put a cap on it, "To the Guild!"

A rousing cry filled the Mare as the cups converged with such force that more liquid spilled from them than stayed in. Sharah tossed back what she had left.

Whatever had happened or would happen, tonight she would celebrate. They had been through so much hardship and loss. But they'd still remained strong and had come out united. A fact proven by how they all were here at the table tonight. When news reached the other halls, Sharah suspected there would be similar scenes all across Cyrodiil. The Fighters Guild celebrating their victory and future.

Sharah grinned and called on Emfrid for a refill. The future could bring what it wanted tomorrow and the day after. Whatever came, the Wolf knew she could handle it.

**I hope the battle sequence wasn't cut too short for you guys. And did I go overboard with Vilena? I swear, every time I hit that part of the quest I was always yelling at my screen, "Do you have any idea what I've been through for you?!"**

**So, that's Fighters Guild all finished up. Goodie! Two questlines down. But we're not done yet. On to the fun part. And, let's face it, what comes after this is the reason you're reading. Just admit it. Stay tuned.**


	37. The Guildmaster's Mantle

**Ok, this chapter started running out of control for me, length-wise. So I ended up cutting it off at a point. That means it doesn't include everything I intended it to. But I do have a good start on the next chapter, so that should make for a quicker update. Depending.**

******So...Enjoy!**

_He slept. Never lengthy and always lightly. The necessary habit called to heel. And yet, despite his trained habits, the intruder entered without his notice. They stole into his asylum and to his side without him realizing. Lucien only woke to a weight settling on the bed beside him, making the mattress dip and bringing him awake in the vital instant of their closest proximity._

_He remained motionless, breathing evenly, giving no inclination he had woken. His hand snaked out, moving so slow as to be imperceptible, toward the hilt of the dagger beneath his pillow. He touched the cool metal, his fingertips brushing the polished pommel when the intruder's weight shifted and his wrist was caught and pinned._

_Lucien's eyes flipped open, ready to attack the one who had invaded his private refuge, and was immediately frozen on the spot. _

_Sharah smiled down at him, a vision in black. "Hello, Lucien."_

_He barely breathed. How had she found him? How had she learned his name?_

_She continued to smile as she leaned further over him, her hair falling as a short curtain about her face. She put a hand upon his chest and pressed more heavily into the one that held his wrist to steady herself. She maneuvered on top of him, placing her knees on either side of his waist, finally settling her hips down atop his._

_Lucien watched, keenly aware of the position he was in. And the position he wished they be in. Lucien far preferred to be the one in command, but he already knew she possessed this odd control over him. Which should have infuriated him and yet he was more than willing to give himself over to her like this._

_Sharah let go of his wrist and sat back, his hips absorbing her full weight precisely where he wanted it. Then her hand went to the first button of the black robe that covered her form. He watched, still as the dead, as she unfastened the first with agonizingly deliberate care and her fingers trailed down the fabric to the second. _

_Lucien's eyes followed her hand and took in everything else. How the fabric fell around her frame, the darkness of the cloth soaking in the curves he knew were beneath. The fabric was loose. Not unattractively so, but the robe was clearly too big for her. Then he noted the barely perceptible mend on the right shoulder. And another longer one on the left sleeve. Mends he had performed with his own hand. She was wearing his Speaker robe! He wasn't entirely sure how to react to that. Then she released the third button and he didn't care. The fabric parted slowly, revealing the skin of her throat, her chest, and lower…_

_She continued to smile down at him. "What are you waiting for?" she asked, almost teasingly._

_What indeed? When the fourth button came loose, she chose that moment to rock her hips against his. Lucien couldn't restrain the groan that issued from him as all his blood rushed to his nether regions. She laughed gently and released another button. The robe was well open at this point, showing nothing but skin beneath, the folds falling further apart and catching on the swell of her breasts. _

_Sweet Sithis, it was exquisite agony to lie there and know it would take but one gesture to reveal all. But he couldn't move. Lucien remained frozen where he lay, watching as she put him through the most perfect torture he'd ever experienced._

_Sharah's hands abandoned the robe and fell upon his chest as she leaned forward over him. Their hips still flush as she shifted, Lucien was now certain she wore _nothing_ beneath his robe. And cursed that he himself did not sleep in the nude. If he could only remove his garment from her completely. Or just brush it from her shoulders. But she kept him frozen in place with naught but her eyes, leaving him her prisoner and victim._

_He felt the roll of her body as she stretched out atop him, letting him feel what he could not see before. She lowered face down to him, her lips barely brushing across his, and she breathed, "What are you waiting for?"_

_Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, waiting for the taste of her lips. But it never came. She moved from his mouth, her breath sending shivers across his skin as she traced her lips along his jaw to his neck, pressing them to his flesh all along the way. And just to be certain she was keeping his attention, Sharah rocked her hips every so often, reminding him of where they stood. Or lay. As if he needed it. Not when she closed her mouth upon his throat and she sucked his more delicate veins to the surface, leaving her mark on him in more ways than one. And that was before she nipped at his skin, sending lightening sensations across it._

_In the midst of his heart rate's redoubling with the woman he wanted sprawled upon him, as in want as he it seemed, something prompted Lucien to open his eyes. The heat in his veins was quenched in an instant. The Black Hand stood in the shadows around the bed, their expressions angry and grim, watching everything. Knowing _everything_._

_Lucien tried to move. Tried to speak and warn Sharah who was here and that they knew what he'd done for her. But the paralysis persisted and she remained unawares, continuing her attentions to his flesh, now trailing up the column of his neck. Standing above them, Lucien watched as the Black Hand unsheathed their wicked daggers._

_He couldn't move. He couldn't budge. Lucien railed against his prison but nothing came of it. He barely noticed Sharah's ministrations any longer, being too focused on the Hand as they raised their daggers into the air with points directed toward the woman that lay over him. Sharah finished her lip's journey up his neck and whispered into his ear, "What are you waiting for?"_

_The instant the daggers descended, Lucien's bonds broke. He wrapped his arms around Sharah and rolled, putting himself between her and the deadly points, shielding her with his body. His back bloomed with indescribable pain as they pierced him and drove deep. He opened his mouth in a shriek and…_

… Lucien hit the floor, having rolled off his bed, and the air was forced from his lungs with a dull thud.

He lay on the ground immobile, trembling and gasping for breath. Then he jerked up and around, searching the room to be certain, and found himself alone. No Black Hand. No Sharah. She hadn't come to him. She hadn't discovered his refuge. And his secret hadn't been found out.

Lucien collapsed back on the stone floor, soaking in the cold as he willed his heart to slow back to a normal tempo. It was a while before Lucien judged his body back under his control. And, although he knew full well it had all been a dream, the Speaker could not resist reaching up to check his person for injuries. No, nothing but whole flesh and cloth. Although the ghost of the daggers' strikes still echoed through him.

Lucien's search for physical reassurance revealed another persistent affect: his pants were tented, as he remained hard as a stone following the dream's more erotic content. Lucien growled and lay back, refusing to give the thing the satisfaction of his attention. He had more important things to occupy his time than an empty jaunt below the belt.

The dream stuck with him. The parts in regard to Sharah were not new. Quite simply, Lucien was glad he lived alone in Fort Farragut. Better no one know just how often he woke aroused with her name on his lips. It was the dream's finale that struck him to the core.

Her shading had done its job. It kept the Black Hand, indeed the entire Brotherhood, away from her. It kept her safely out of reach while Lucien hunted the Brotherhood's inner threat. A threat whose existence the Black Hand continued to deny. A denial made all the easier because the killings had ceased for the time being. Or at least become stealthier. Lucien had no leads to pursue and no way to track it now that the killer had learned to cover his trail.

But this dream…

Lucien covered his face with his hands. He couldn't stall any longer. Shading Sharah had worked in the short run. But the longer he waited, the more likely it was that Lucien's trick would be found out. He needed to recruit her. Before something slipped and they both paid the price for his actions.

He had his excuse at least. In the beginning, Lucien had been distracted with how he could see the Void Price met without involving Sharah directly. And then, to his surprise, at one of the meetings of the Black Hand J'Ghasta made a comment about 'Lucien's new assassin'. That she was making quite a step toward meeting her Price. And boldly, too. Killing in the streets of Bruma. Lucien had played it by intent. Of course she would wish the Price met as soon as possible. And of course she was capable. He'd recruited her to his Sanctuary, hadn't he?

Lucien kept a closer eye on her through rumors after that. He didn't know how, but Sharah was doing his work for him. Meeting the Void Price on her own. The killings in Bruma's streets were just the start. She'd led an attack into the mountains against the Companions, there was talk of a cavern of mercenaries she'd slaughtered in the Great Forest. And just this last week, Uvani had spoken angrily about how he didn't appreciate mass murder happening in his town without his say-so. Even if torching the Blackwood building with Company members inside, and with the Count's approval no less, had been a master stroke. One which finally shut Uvani up from flaunting Mathieu Bellamont for a while. The boy was doing well in his new role. Something Uvani felt the need to remind everyone of on a constant basis.

Lucien couldn't be sure of the exact number of people she had killed. But it was enough to give him his excuse to lift her shading and bring her 'back' into the Brotherhood. Lucien's hands drew down his face and rested on his chest, still feeling the daggers in his back. He needed to do it now before the dream became a reality.

But there was the matter of actually recruiting her. Lucien had yet to speak a word to her. Yet to actually meet Sharah properly. Too often, just being near her was enough to rob him of sense. And yet…Lucien had the feeling he might be able to do it this time. He'd have to. But it wasn't just about speaking. It was about convincing her to become an assassin.

She would resist. To her, the Dark Brotherhood had only ever been her enemy. And Lucien did not know if she would recognize him. She had been blindfolded the only time they'd been together. Lucien's hand drifted lower along his person. He'd need to convince her. And use every trick he had to do it. This would mean preserving her life. It would mean finally having her within reach. This would mean _everything_. For her sake, he would find the words. Although, just to be certain, perhaps he should bring more than that.

Lucien's considerations were interrupted by a near-violent twitch from his still solid rod. He cursed and shoved his hand beneath his waistband, just for some relief. If only the blasted thing could recognize when it wasn't the time for such things. And he couldn't focus with it bobbing about down there. Lucien handled it roughly, and his member didn't so much release as it swore out loud. But at least it wouldn't bother him for a while and he could think.

Right, Sharah's recruitment. He'd have to find her. Lucien didn't expect that to be too difficult considering how public a figure she'd become. And then would come the real test: opening his mouth and saying something to her. Lucien cursed. It sounded so simple. And would likely be the most difficult thing he'd done in his life. _Night Mother, help me._

XXX

Sharah and Oreyn walked up into the Guildmaster's office…her office, together. They cleared the desk of most everything. And it took two trips for them to transfer the paperwork on the back table to the desk. Sharah planted her hands on her hips and looked down at the pile like a mountain to be climbed. "Well, this looks sort of familiar, doesn't it?"

Oreyn grunted and pulled the spare chair over, "And the sooner we start, the sooner we get it done."

He sat down in the spare chair and Sharah went around to the Guildmaster's chair…her chair. She sat down and scooted it in a little clumsily, sorting her legs and feet beneath the desk. She'd sat here a few times before while doing paperwork. But this time the desk seemed bigger. Or maybe she felt smaller.

Oreyn watched her shifting around, and reassured her, "You're going to do fine, Wolf."

"Yeah. Yeah, you keep saying that," Sharah said, finally getting a comfortable distance from the desk. Maybe she'd add a pillow later. "Well…let's get to it then."

The two of them began by sorting through the pile, organizing by priority. There were some contracts that the local halls had probably already completed without expecting contact from headquarters. They'd need to get confirmation on those. Some still called for instruction. The monthly reports would probably come in about a week from now, provided the halls had kept on top of things during this whole business.

She and Oreyn were about to get into the detailed work when Sharah abruptly looked up toward the stair. Her second caught the shift in attention and twisted in his seat to look. Then looked pleased. Vilena Donton was standing on the third step from the top. She wasn't wearing her iron cuirass. She wasn't armed. She seemed uncertain of her welcome, but she had come.

Sharah smiled broadly and motioned her forward, "Welcome back, Vilena. Oreyn and I were just getting started here. But if you'd like to pull up a seat, we can talk while we work. Or…you could lend a hand. If you're feeling up to it."

Vilena came up the last steps slowly and stopped as Oreyn stood up. But when he offered her his seat, the tension drained out of Vilena's shoulders. She walked over and lowered herself into the chair while Oreyn went to fetch the last spare seat on this level. Sharah flipped the older woman smile before they all settled into the task before them.

This was going to work. The three of them working together to manage the Guild…this was going to work.

XXX

Sharah sat back, satisfied, "Well, that didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would."

Oreyn grunted, cracking his back, "That's what happens when you've got three heads working."

Sharah tapped the stacks as she referred to them, "So these contracts need to be sent out. And the recruitment strategies…Anything else?"

Vilena shook her head, "I think that should do for now."

"Yes," Oreyn agreed, "That will catch us up. The next few weeks will tell us how things work out. Now it's just a matter of paying attention and keeping on top of things."

"I think we can do that," Sharah replied.

XXX

Oreyn looked over the latest word from the halls, "Looks like two of those contracts were taken care of already. But the rest will take the instructions we sent. You also got something from Bruma, along with the letter of congratulations. That's the last hall to send one in, I think."

Sharah took the package and unwrapped it. Then laughed. "Cyrodiilic Brandy." She plucked the note tied around the bottle's neck, "'Cheers for our new Guildmaster. We drank the rest in your honor. And one of our guildmates might have ended up on the chandelier during the festivities.'" Sharah laughed and her hand drifted to the carved Companions' tooth that still hung around her neck. This was sort of a gift from both the Bruma hall and the Companions, if you looked at it sideways.

Oreyn shook his head, "If we get a reimbursement request for damages, I'll be denying it. On that note, we should be receiving the contract cut for headquarters this next week. It'll be low this month, but I expect we'll pull in more as time goes on and folks come back to the Fighters Guild."

"About how much?"

"Cumulative? Hm…five hundred this month. As things pick up, so will headquarters' cut. The good months turn out over a thousand. And most of that will go to you."

Sharah blanched, "What? Oreyn, I don't need that kind of money coming to me."

He replied, "A percentage will go into our vaults to be used for fund requests from the halls. But you are the Guildmaster. You'll get an income. Especially considering you won't be doing contracts anymore."

Sharah actually deflated a little, "Right…But it's not like I'll be doing anything with that sort of coin."

The mer regarded her, "Actually, I would recommend putting it aside for the purchase of a home in Chorrol. The owners of Arborwatch are moving to High Rock. They'll turn the property over to the Countess and she'll be looking for a buyer soon after."

Sharah leaned back against her desk, "I already own two homes, Oreyn."

"But not a residence here in Chorrol. You're the Guildmaster. It's appropriate for you to own a proper home instead of sleeping behind a cloth partition."

Sharah had settled into her old bunk since she'd come back and been promoted to Master. The communal sleeping arrangements had never been a problem before. But with her being their leader, Oreyn had insisted that her bunk be set apart from the rest of the guildmembers. Now he was looking at her moving from the hall entirely.

She supposed it made sense. The Dontons had owned their own manor for generations, living away from the hall. Even Oreyn had his own place. But Sharah didn't feel the need. It felt…like setting down roots. Which is what it _should_ feel like. She was Guildmaster. She was going to be Guildmaster for the rest of her life. Or course she should live in the city of her responsibility and in the manner due her station.

But owning three homes was just ridiculous. True, one was a shack. But the other was a manor that she had a special connection to. If she were to sell it, Sharah didn't actually know how to break the blood-bond to it. Or even if she wanted to. Sharah had put some work into that place. She didn't really want to give it up, even if common sense told her she should.

And…Sharah didn't feel exactly ready to put down the sort of roots that involved buying a house here in Chorrol. She'd rather move into the guild tower if separation was the intent. Or rent from Vilena.

"I'll think about it."

Oreyn grunted softly, but didn't argue.

XXX

"Recruitment is already up," Oreyn reported over the table, "I advise we send most of them to Anvil for training. It's the best place. And Azzan needs to choose a trio from the number. We need to replace the threesome in Skingrad. In fact, we should consider some reassignments to even out the halls a bit."

Sharah nodded, "I kind of noticed. Skingrad and Chorrol seem to be short in general. Cheydinhal too."

Oreyn said, "There are a couple recruits finishing training in Anvil right now. We can have them up here in a couple weeks. We'll set Skingrad to receive their trio as soon as Azzan finds a compatible team."

"And Cheydinhal?"

"Not everything is going to happen at once. He's got his trio and three more. Skingrad is in greatest need right now. Everything in its own time, Wolf," Oreyn assured her.

"Right, right. I guess I'm just a little anxious for all this to get done," Sharah said, kicking her feet beneath her desk.

"But you've got to give it time," he said, picking up what they'd completed that morning. "Things are in the works. Now you've got to trust the Guild to get it done."

"Right," Sharah repeated, her legs still swinging, "Right."

XXX

"How's Vilena?" Sharah asked, wiping her brow free of sweat now that their training period had finished.

Oreyn drank from the water pitcher, then dumped the rest over his head before replying. "Better since the new boots showed up. I think working with them energizes her. Long past due, too."

Sharah nodded understandingly from the stair. She was actually jealous of the woman. Not enough to deny her the task that was doing her good. Vilena was more spirited now that she was being productive. The new boots had finished general training, but there was still improvement to be had. The last Donton wore her sword more often. Her cuirass, too. And the boots responded well to being trained by the former Guildmaster.

The same could not be said for Sharah. Perhaps the word 'former' was the important term. Sharah had tried training with them at one point. She worked with Oreyn regularly, but he had tasks of his own to accomplish and Sharah was finding more and more of her time free and in need of filling. And she couldn't just commandeer Oreyn every time she felt bored and wanted to hit someone. Even if she was Guildmaster, exercising such power would be irresponsible. And, again, he had work to do that didn't center around amusing her.

But those new boots…Any hope of training with them had fallen flat on its face the first time. They'd taken one look at her, saw her stature, saw her rank and were immediately afraid of breaking her. Even the more experienced guildmembers here were that way. And Sharah had had no luck knocking the sentiment from any of them. Oreyn was the only one who didn't pull his punches. And training with anyone who took it easy on her was pointless.

At least Vilena was having better luck. Even if it did mean that Sharah had less to occupy her time. Sharah sighed and leaned back on the stairway. But all in all, things in the Guild were keeping steady. Things were working out well. Very…well.

XXX

Sharah looked down at the day's paperwork Oreyn had brought back from the courier, "Is this it?"

"This is it," he replied. When she thumbed through the pages with a frown, he asked, "Not enough for you?"

"No, it's not that," she insisted, "It's just…it seems a little…thin."

Oreyn sat down across from her in his usual seat. The seat she used to occupy when she'd been his assistant. "It's a result of the system we've got. Vilena set it up once she got married, so she'd have time to raise her children while still being Master of the Guild. The individual halls handle everything but the most extreme of situations so that we're not dealing with every lump and nail that comes up. Worked out well overall. I think you pushed it further with that declaration to the halls during your Guild Championship. The individual halls are more than used to handling most matters on their own. It's important for them to all be self-sustaining."

Sharah nodded, kicking her legs beneath the desk, "I see. This doesn't look like it will take long."

He grunted in agreement, "I should be able to go home early. And pick up some paints from Seed-Neeus."

She looked up eagerly, "You finally decided what you're going to put on that canvas."

Oreyn tried to muffle his smile, "Yeah. But don't ask what. And don't drop by unannounced. I don't want you to see it until it's done."

"No problem," Sharah agreed, "I look forward to seeing it." They went to work. But, out of sight, Sharah's legs were still swinging.

XXX

Another contract complete. High praise from the client. The guild members involved had been paid and the usual headquarters' cut was noted and would be sent at the end of next month. Sharah made the appropriate tally to the books and placed the report in the pile to be filed away. Another of her daily tasks completed…damnit…

Sharah drummed her fingers on the desk and kicked her legs around underneath. She wasn't so sure she wanted to finish all her paperwork quickly today. After all, this was really all she had to do today for the Guild. Just go through this measly pile of reports that had come in. Then the rest of the day would be her own. If only she had something to do with it.

Sharah grumbled a little to herself. This was not how this was supposed to work. Being Guildmaster…that was a privilege most Fighters guildmembers could never hope for. She'd risen to the highest position in the entire Guild. And in an unheard of period of time. She was in charge of an organization that spanned the length and breadth of Cyrodiil. So why wasn't she content? Hadn't Azzan's Ra Gada Urge fallen silent when he took over Anvil's hall? Then why was hers running a constant buzz through her, like her skin was too tight?

Sharah grumbled a bit more, tapping the tip of her quill on the paper before her. Then tapping it on the wood for a clearer sound. Tock. Tock. Then on the inkwell. Plink. Plink. Then on the binding of a book. Top. Top. Oops! She'd gotten ink of the spine. Sharah dropped the quill into the inkwell and pinned her hands beneath her elbows, then rested her head on her crossed forearms.

She was supposed to be ready to set down roots now. The Ra Gada Urge was supposed to ease off and let go. But she was getting more and more restless. And she didn't know what to do about it while still staying true to her new position. No contracts. That was a given. It was stupid to risk the Guildmaster on contracts. Same for adventuring. She was supposed to remain secure and steady. That was her job now. As Guildmaster, her job was to be here for her Guild at the drop of a hat. And training was still a wash with anyone but Oreyn. They all still held back for fear of doing her harm. Sharah growled.

She really needed a hobby. Oreyn had taken up his painting again. Vilena was more involved with the guildmates than ever before. Good for both of them. But Sharah's hobbies involved the thrill of exploration and danger. Things absolutely out of the question for a Guildmaster.

She needed to find something to do in town. Her armor and weaponry were all in pristine condition. She'd already read just about every book on the shelves up here in the office. Sharah kicked her legs anxiously beneath the desk, trying to work off some of the buzz running through her.

Maybe potion making. She was decent. But perfecting her craft could keep her mind off her Ra Gada Urge. Sharah turned her head and looked out the open window to the building next door. She could go over and study with the Mages Guild. Spells and enchantments and what have you. How often did you see mages in the wilderness? They liked keeping to their rooms and laboratories. Maybe she could spend her time over there and pick up their tendency to remain stationary. Sharah snorted. To think, being the Master of the Fighters Guild was going to lead her to become a magister. How strange was that?

While Sharah was thinking, a brightly colored butterfly flitted in and lit upon the sill. Given that Sharah had nothing else to do today, she sat and watched it. The insect turned a little, its wings moving slowly up and down as it investigated the room with those long elegant antennas. Then with a powerful little wing beat, it lifted off the window sill and fluttered inside.

Sharah tilted her head around on her forearms to watch its progress. The wafting glide and flutter over to the bookcase, settling hesitantly on a shelf before taking off again. Then over to the weapons rack and coming to rest on a silver pommel. But the pommel was rounded and polished, so the butterfly couldn't balance properly. She watched the wings tilt and move as it tried to stay on its perch. Then up into the air and up further, almost to the chandelier.

It was nice to watch. Almost like a dance. And the wings made it especially difficult for Sharah to tear her eyes away. They were delicate and bright and pretty. And depending on the way the light hit them, the wings seemed to be one of two different colors. So Sharah stared as it moved through the air and finally glided down to her desk.

It marched along the edge of the sturdy mahogany, investigating the edge as it went. When it came to the corner, the butterfly took off again. Another slow spiraled dance through the air. Sharah was actually sad when the creature moved toward the window and passed between the opened panes of glass and escaped out into the world. She sighed heavily. The real sad thing was that the butterfly's flight indoors had been the most interesting thing to happen today. And yesterday.

She sighed again and sat up. Time to go back to work. The paperwork wouldn't do itself.

A harsh clearing of the throat came from the stairway. Sharah looked up to see Oreyn wearing a scowl. She sat up, "Hello, Oreyn. Did you need something?" _Please need something. Please, give me something to do besides this._

The mer's scowl deepened, "Get out."

Sharah's head cocked back a little, "Of…the office?"

"Of the hall. And the city," he said, coming the rest of the way up the stairs.

"What?"

He came up to the desk, "I want you to get out of the city. And clearly that's what you want, or you wouldn't be sulking up here every day."

"I'm not sulking!" Sharah said defensively. She winced, realizing she sounded like a child. "I'm not sulking," she repeated, trying to make this one more of a declaration.

He leaned on the desk, "You're a terrible liar."

"I'm not lying," Sharah said, as forcefully as she could, going back to sounding childish.

"So what are you doing?"

Sharah looked down and fidgeted in her seat, pinching the edge of her desk and drumming her fingers. "I'm…I'm supposed to be here. I'm Master of the Guild. I'm supposed to be here whenever they need me. So I'm here. And I'm not sulking about it." Or at least not intentionally.

Oreyn's expression softened as he looked down at her, "That Ra Gada Urge hasn't left, has it?"

She prepared a response, then halted her breath and let it out in a sigh, "No." Then she went to her feet, "But that doesn't mean anything. The Guild needs me here, so I'm not going anywhere."

Her second-in-command shook his head, "Wolf, sometimes you're too stubborn for your own good."

Sharah crossed her arms, "Maybe. But I'm not leaving my responsibilities just to go thrill seeking."

"Yes, you are," Oreyn said, dropping an empty travel pack atop the papers. "You're wasting away up here, Wolf. And don't think I haven't noticed. I'll admit, I was hoping this would be the end of that Ra Gada Urge of yours. But clearly, that's not how it works. So I want you to get out of this city before the desk work turns you bitter and unhappy."

Sharah stared down at the pack, trying not to look hopeful, "But…the Guild—"

"Will go on without you. With the system we have, the Guild doesn't need its Master at every moment. I can cover the paperwork for a few months. But you clearly won't last another week cooped up within the walls." He slid the pack across the desk toward her, "So I want you to leave the city. Go out and do…whatever it is you do. And try not to get yourself killed while you do it."

Sharah picked up the pack, her Urge already thrumming louder. She looked back at him, "Are you sure? I mean…maybe I could—"

"I've been doing this job for almost twice as long as you've been alive. I can manage things just fine until you get back."

Sharah didn't move. "But…I can't leave. 'Leadership matters'. That's what you said. If I'm not here, people will notice. They'll turn on the Guild again."

Oreyn didn't back down, "People know the Guild has a new master. And they know what the Guild has accomplished. The Master being on hand is a footnote. Confidence is not going to fall just because you're not at your desk every hour of the day."

"But—"

"By the Nine, Wolf, stop trying to come up with excuses. You need this. So take that," he jabbed a finger at the pack, "and get a move on!"

Her eyes darted between him and the pack and the paperwork. Sharah knew what her heart wanted. But this was her duty. Her responsibility. Abandoning it for adventuring didn't seem right. "Are you sure?" she asked again, needing the certainty before she dared to take off.

Oreyn nodded grimly, "I've seen administrative work ruin fighters before. And you're too young to get caught up in that. I had hoped you'd finally settle down, but clearly that's not going to happen. It shouldn't surprise me. I've never known wolves to do well in enclosed spaces."

Sharah's hands shook a little from how tightly she clutched the pack. Hell, the buzzing in her skin was so great Sharah felt like she was vibrating. She darted around the desk and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, Oreyn. Thank you so much."

He returned the gesture and gave her a hearty pound on the back, "You're welcome, Wolf. Just don't be too long about it. You keep in touch with me periodically. And don't you dare go getting yourself killed."

"I promise."

She couldn't thank him enough for this. Even with the Guild the way it was, and everything she had been willing and was willing to do for it, Oreyn was still willing to let her leave. In fact, he was insisting. Actually, it might be because of what she'd done for the Guild that he was pushing for this. She'd given so much, done so much. And now he was giving her the chance to do something for herself. To have her freedom back, at least for a little while. With a positively beaming grin, Sharah hugged the pack to her and flew down the stairs so fast she barely touched the floor.

**Just a little taste of Lucien. Ain't I a stinka. There'll be more next chapter. Let me know what you thought. And I'll see you next update.**


	38. A Glimpse into Darkness

**Fhew! Thanks for waiting all. This is the longest one yet because there was just nowhere to cut off until I reached the end. But I know it'll be worth it for you. It's got some real intense...well, just read it.**

**And speaking of which...ahem...Ladies and Gentlemen, I will now attempt the most dangerous and potentially readership destroying trick that any author has ever attempted! I will a endeavor to transform a tall, dark, mysterious, fan-girl magnet into...bum, bum, BUM...a person! (gasp!) I know. This trick has been the confidence-killer and critic-attractor of many a fine fanfiction author. But, as a true slave to the craft, I shall not be deterred. Now, I would advise that everyone step back. I have never attempted this before and I do not know what will happen. Men, protect your women. Women, protect your purses (the guys can take care of themselves). And now...let us...begin!**

It was a joy to be back out in the wilderness. The sky, the earth, the sun on her face and the wind through her hair. And most important, the distinct absence of a goal. No contract to complete, no hall awaiting contact, no Guild in peril. Just Sharah, the horse beneath her saddle and the sword upon her belt. And nothing keeping her from a simple, good, old-fashioned adventure.

And what an adventure to start with. The cave she'd entered had seemed unremarkable save for the entrance being behind the downpour of a waterfall. Just something to wander through and camp in. Sharah would never have guessed that the deepest cavern held a ruined pirate ship that had been trapped beneath the earth by some ancient rock fall. It was a truly exciting discovery. Even if it did come with the still lingering spirits of the crew and captain. None of which had been friendly.

Sharah explored the cave system extensively, coming upon the pirates' treasure trove as she did so. Although Sharah only took what she could easily carry, not wanting to have to go back to town so soon. She'd only just started up into the Valus Mountains. So the enchanted weaponry remained behind for the next adventurous wanderer who braved the depths of the cavern and she continued her wanderings through the cave. Why end an adventure so soon anyway? She had nowhere to go or be.

Sharah did anything she could think of to stretch out this particular adventure. She squeezed and maneuvered around inside the partly submerged hull of the ship, shimmied up to the end of the tilted but still sturdy mast, just because she wanted to see the cave from the perch. And when she at last grew tired of the ship, Sharah headed back toward the cave's entrance. But not to leave. Again, why end an adventure so soon?

She'd settle her horse and camp in the cave's first chamber tonight. Then tomorrow she would thoroughly exhaust herself by climbing all over the rock wall that had trapped the ship. After a couple hundred years to settle, it was probably sturdy enough for the climb. And only when this location had given its all would she move on. Maybe she'd investigate that rumor of Daedra worshipers up the mountain next.

The plans for living like this, wandering where she willed and doing what she wanted, really took Sharah back to her time before she was Oreyn's assistant. Back before her wolf had really woken up and she'd learned more than a few disturbing things about herself. Sharah really hoped it lasted.

As she walked back through the caverns, Sharah heard soft footsteps echo toward her from up ahead. She quickly ducked behind an outcrop and pulled out Umbra in preparation should it prove to be an unfriendly. The light of a torch bled in from the entrance passage and brightened the chamber she was in. Sharah curled tighter behind the stone while watching for whoever was approaching.

An unfamiliar man, small and light of frame, probably a Breton, stepped into the space with a torch in one hand and an unsheathed sword in the other. Sharah had expected some bandit or marauder come to scope out the cave as a hideout. But this one wore very little armor. Too little to be someone who roughed it in the wild. Just a simple tunic, britches and boots. In fact, he was very out of his element here, holding his torch as high as he could and searching the shadows for any movement that might prove a threat. Not a bandit or marauder. And if he was a treasure hunter, he was new to the game.

But still, she stayed hidden as he ventured closer. And when he was close enough, she noted a satchel hanging across his chest. He was barely two yards away before she could make out the symbol emblazoned on it: a dark stained stallion on the leather. Sharah relaxed, but the symbol spawned new questions. What was a courier doing out here?

"Hail!" Sharah called.

The courier just about jumped out of his boots and swung his sword around, ready for a fight. Sharah did her best to stifle the laughter that bubbled up. Was it cruel of her to enjoy startling the tar out of a stranger?

She stepped slowly out into the torchlight with Umbra hanging limp in her hand, "It's alright. The cave is empty. And I'll not do you any harm." The courier didn't drop his guard, probably because he'd been ambushed before by highwaymen saying the same sort of thing. Sharah openly sheathed her sword, "I'm not a bandit. I'm just out here adventuring. What's a rider for the Black Horse Courier doing here? I hope you know Chorrol is a couple hour's south of here. And it'd be a better choice to take your rest."

The courier's sword dropped a couple inches, "I'm here to deliver a letter."

"To who? I'm the only one here," she remarked.

"Sharah the Wolf," he replied.

Sharah sighed and could not keep her disappointment concealed. "Did Oreyn send you? I just left." Did something important pop up already? And here she'd hoped to spend at least a few weeks abroad.

"No," the courier shook his head, "I'm from Leyawiin with a letter for Sharah the Wolf. I didn't meet any Oreyn."

She paused, "Leyawiin? That's a far ride. And if you didn't meet Oreyn, how did you even know where to find me?"

The courier let his blade drop a few more inches, "So you're Sharah the Wolf?"

"Yes."

He fell out of his pose entirely and looked around, "And you…live here?"

Sharah's hands popped to her hips, "Of course not. I just got here today. Like I said, I'm just adventuring. Now how did you know where to find me?"

The courier sheathed his sword, "I…didn't. I was just told to come to this cave and deliver a letter to Sharah the Wolf."

"From who? And how did they know— Oh, never mind. Let's have it, then." Sharah was very curious as to who would be sending her a letter and would have it delivered to a cave that Sharah had discovered only by chance and only today. Chorrol would have been a much more obvious place to reach her at. And certainly no one from Leyawiin would have known yet that Oreyn had let her leave.

The courier went through his satchel and pulled out an envelope to give it to her. Sharah looked it over, noting the Mages Guild symbol stamped into the wax seal. Before she could open it, the courier said, "Would you like me to remain if you have a reply? Or perhaps you would prefer to use the service in Chorrol?" By the way he was shifting the man was still ill at ease here in the cave.

Sharah waved her hand at him, "I'll go back to Chorrol if I want to send something back. You be on your way."

"Thank you, ma'am," he said, relieved, and hustled back out of the chamber and back toward the cave entrance.

Sharah shook her head. _Amateur. _It was actually easier to see with that blazingly bright torch gone. The spell on her Nighteye ring was designed to see in the dark. So it worked best when there wasn't intense light around.

She snapped the envelope open and pulled out the letter.

_Sharah the Wolf._

_I hope this letter finds you well. I do not doubt that it will find you, as Dagail has told me where this letter will reach you and, even in her old age, she is never wrong about such things. In fact, that is why I am writing to you. Dagail, our chapter's leader, has received a powerful vision. Indeed, she has forcefully insisted that I write this to you. I believe she fears for your safety. And given the intensity of her reactions and what she has spoken of what she has seen, I share her concern. Indeed, Dagail remains distressed even as I pen this letter and will likely remain so until it is on its way to you. At her behest, I have transcribed everything she has said while in the throes of her vision. I hope you take this warning seriously and take precautions to guard yourself._

_Signed, _

_Agata, Mages Guild Evoker_

Sharah remembered both Dagail and Agata. Dagail, an Altmer magister who headed the Leyawiin chapter of the Mages Guild. She was best known for her visions. Visions which were so powerful that they could overtake her mind unless she wore a special amulet that served to focus and control them. And then there was Agata, the Nord who acted as Dagail's assistant and caretaker. Sharah remembered meeting both of them years ago. And Dagail had certainly made a memorable first impression.

_Sharah walked into the Leyawiin chapter of the Mages Guild, glad to be out of the clammy southern humidity. How did Ragar stand it? How did any of them? She hadn't just come in here to avoid the weather. Sharah was so very tired of having things sneak up on her in the dark. Or coming around a corner being face to face with a monster. Supposedly, there was a spell to detect life. And Sharah was going to get someone in the Mages Guild to teach it to her before she went delving into any more caves alone. _

_A Nord woman in Mages robes was reading in the foyer and stood up at Sharah's entry, "Hello. My name is Agata, Mages Guild Evoker. Can I help you?"_

_Before Sharah could get a word out of her mouth someone came down the stairs in a rush, bumping into the wall in their haste. Sharah looked over the Agata woman's shoulder to see an elderly Altmer woman hurriedly recover her footing at the landing and stumble the rest of the way down to the first floor._

_Agata turned and gasped, "Dagail! You shouldn't be down here. You need to be upstairs resting."_

_The Altmer brushed past the Nord like a ghost and went straight to Sharah. It was so fast that the adventurer didn't have any time to react before the Altmer came right up to her and clamped her hands around Sharah's face, their faces so close that their noses almost touched. And Sharah could easily see the whites all the way around the Altmer's eyes as the old mer looked down at her like one crazed._

"_You have come," the mer said, "Yes. You are here. The Guild will give you guidance, child. And you will help us in return. All of us." Sharah's eyes darted awkwardly to Agata who was already moving to extricate them, speaking softly to the old mer in an attempt to calm her. Attempts that were going nowhere. The Altmer, Dagail, trembled as though struggling with something and kept her hands firmly on Sharah's face. "There are words I must speak. But the voices…are so loud. They drown out the words. But I must speak. And you must hear. My sire's stone shall shut them out. It waits for you. Where blood runs blue. As the Guild waits for you. Has always waited for you."_

_Agata took a hold of one of the Altmer's arms and sought to pry it away from Sharah's face, still trying to talk her down, "Please, Dagail. This isn't good for you. You need to rest. Please, let me take you back upstairs."_

_Dagail shuddered and dropped her hands slowly at the urging. But before she could be drawn away, one of them darted out and viced around Sharah's wrist so hard she could feel her bones bend. In fact, the young adventurer was obliged to take Dagail's free arm and help Agata guide her up the stairs to her private chamber on the third floor. And all the time the old mer was staring down at the hand she was gripping and mumbling, "The city in the Hand. The Hand in the Stars. The Tower guards the Gate. But the Gate holds the Key. The King is the Key. The Hand guards the King…"_

_The change in location did nothing to ease her, though. Even when they got Dagail comfortably seated in a chair, she refused to let go of Sharah's hand. The woman was clearly unstable. And Sharah was getting an increasingly bad feeling with every word that came out of her mouth._

"_You must take your place. Without us you shall be broken. Without you the world will descend into ash and destruction. You must. You must!"_

_Sharah tried to wiggle free as Dagail's eyes bulged from her skull. But the old woman had a grip like a steel talon and was getting more and more irate with each passing second. What in Oblivion was she talking about?_

_Agata interceded quickly, "She wants you to join the Guild."_

"_What?" Sharah started, "But I'm not a mage—Ouch!" The hand around her wrist tightened. Any tighter and she'd break it._

_Agata pleaded, "Please. Tell her before she hurts herself!"_

"_Before she hurts _herself_? Ouch! Alright. Alright! I'll join the Mages Guild. I'll join!"_

_The old Altmer's face took on an expression of immense relief and she let Sharah slip from her grasp. She sagged in the chair, apparently exhausted from the exertion, "This is good. The stone of my sire waits for you. It waits. But we wait…no longer…" She seemed to drift off in the middle of her stream of consciousness._

_Agata urged Sharah away from the chair and led her out of the room, closing the door with great care to preserve the old woman's rest. "I'm very sorry about that. She isn't normally so intense."_

_Sharah massaged her wrist, "That's alright…I think. Is there something wrong with her?" As though she even needed to ask._

_The Nord tried to explain delicately, "She has…visions. For lack of a better term. They are very strong and used to be very helpful for the Guild. But, as she aged, they became less coherent."_

_Sharah looked at the door, "I can see that. But…you're not really going to accept that bit about me joining the Mages Guild? Wouldn't this be…I don't know. Under duress or something? I'm really not much of a magic user."_

_Agata replied, "That's not my choice. Dagail is the head of our chapter. She is the one who accepts new members. And she clearly thought it was very important if she managed to come all the way downstairs to you in her condition."_

"_And her sire's stone? What was that about?"_

"_I'm surprised she said anything about that to you. But I guess…" The Nord looked at Sharah carefully. Whatever she saw bid her continue, "The stone is a means of controlling her visions. If she doesn't wear it, then she becomes like this. Recently hers has gone missing. But her father must have had one as well. It seems as though she wishes you to find it. And… 'blood runs blue'…I think I know where you need to look."_

_XXX_

_Sharah returned with the stone in Fort Blueblood where Dagail's father had been buried. And it turned out her original stone hadn't been lost. It had been stolen by a member of the Guild seeking to advance himself at the Altmer's expense. A member Sharah had been forced to kill when he'd attacked her for the seer's stone she carried. And he'd been an ex-necromancer. Sharah shuddered. As though she needed any more reason to dislike him. Dealing with the undead just wasn't natural. Sharah shuddered again._

_When Sharah returned to the Leyawiin Mages Guild, Agata took her up to Dagail immediately. The Altmer was still in her chair, but roused at Sharah's approach. "Found it have you? Silenced the hands that betrayed and took what was mine?"_

_Sharah didn't really know how to speak mystic, so she just offered the Altmer the seer's stone. Dagail took it and placed it around her neck. The symbols carved into the stone seemed to glow and the mer visibly relaxed as the spell did its work. When she opened her eyes again they had an almost dreamy look to them. Which was a vast improvement on crazed, in Sharah's opinion._

"_The voices are quieted for now," Dagail said, "I thank you, child, for helping me. There are words I must speak to you." While Sharah wasn't exactly keen on getting more of what she'd already witnessed, she didn't want Dagail to fall into another episode. So she took a step nearer. Dagail seemed to approve and looked oddly at her, "Your aura is bright but…unclear. The path you will take is unwritten. I see things in your future, child. Things which will be, and things which may be. Beware seeking what you were. It will draw things unto you. Life and death are such strange things. Easily manipulated. And both shall be altered by your hands. For fate does not guide you, child. Rather, you shall guide it."_

XXX

Mentally unstable magisters. Sharah had hoped that would be the strangest thing she ever came across. But…it hadn't been. Sharah might hope that it wouldn't get any worse. But that was like asking it to happen. Dagail's previous vision still didn't make any sense to her. Perhaps her latest one would be better.

Sharah took out the second page in the envelope. It was scribbled with more force and speed than the other. Probably the result of Agata trying to keep up with Dagail during her vision. And the first words cast away any hope Sharah had of it making sense to her.

_The darkness has found you, child. It comes for you, surrounding you. I can see nothing past it. I am as one blind in a battlefield. I cannot see what lies ahead. All is impenetrable darkness. But far beyond the darkness I see a light. A great fire that will destroy all things. But I cannot see the path or how this fire shall come upon you. Beware, child. You are being hunted._

Divines and Daedra, did everyone get visions this apocalyptic? Or was it just Sharah? And for that matter, why did Sharah even get them? There was really no way to discern anything from this seer mumbo-jumbo. What the magister saw could be physical or symbolic or something else altogether. And Sharah had never figured out how to speak mystic, so nothing written here made any sense to her. Although it still sent a shiver down Sharah's spine. What was the darkness? What path? And what was the fire? None of it made any sense to her. And the rest of the letter didn't give any clue beyond the obvious. Danger.

Except for that last part. _You are being hunted._ That seemed clear enough. Provided she was being hunted by something that lived and breathed. However unsettling the rest of the letter was, that was the only part Sharah could think to do anything about. She was being hunted. By who? And why? A crony of Clavicus Vile? The Dark Brotherhood? An angry Companion? The remnants of Blackwood? Or maybe a prospective competitor of her Guild? She'd certainly ticked off a lot of people in her short time here in Cyrodiil, hadn't she? But that meant Sharah had no idea who was coming after her. Again, if it was an actual someone.

Sharah frowned down at the page. Then folded up both papers and tucked them back into the envelope, and the envelope into her cuirass. Her adventuring would have to wait. The smart move would be to go back to Chorrol and tell Oreyn about this warning. He'd probably assign her guards, assemble half the Guild to defend her and wait for the attack. That would be the smart move. But…

Sharah sighed. It was stupid. Incredibly stupid. Stupendously stupid. But…Sharah wanted to handle this on her own. Very, very stupid. She _should_ go back to Chorrol and use her Guild to handle whatever was coming after her. But if she did, Oreyn would probably rethink her going out on her own. She'd be stuck back at headquarters or wherever they decided she should hole up. This solo inclination was probably just her overly stubborn independence cropping up, anyway. Her inner-wolf stirring now that she was out on her own again.

She should go back to the Guild. But her instincts…the damned strange ones that would assure her there was no threat even when she felt hidden eyes watching her…they told her that returning to the Guild was the wrong move. And while they had guided her right in the strangest of circumstances, hear head just couldn't agree that facing this hunter on her own was the smart move. But then, she'd never learned anything by being smart. And these instincts had yet to steer her wrong, no matter what regard.

Sharah felt her wolf thrum within her as she cast off the last reins of the Guild. She wasn't going to be the Master of the Fighters Guild right now. This time, she was Sharah the Wolf. The dauntless warrior. And the Wolf was not prey.

She stalked toward the entrance, thinking carefully. She was not meeting her hunter in a cave like this. She needed to meet them somewhere she knew and had the advantage. Somewhere she could exercise some control and remain somewhat secure. Just because she was going this alone didn't mean she had to be reckless. Erring on the side of caution would be best considering she didn't know who was coming for her or how many there were.

And the options that occurred to her were not modern, but ancient. Long abandoned ruins that had taught her much during her explorations. Locations that had forced her to be clever and quick. Now it was just a matter of getting to one of them and preparing before this hunter caught up with her.

XXX

He'd lost track of her. Lucien would admit it to no one, but he'd lost track of Sharah completely. She had a knack for disappearing into the hills and dales and turning up somewhere else weeks later with no clear path or trail to follow. It was a skill that would suit her as an assassin. But it was frustrating when he was trying to recruit her. And made him reconsider how he'd spent the time before coming to seek her.

Sharah was not in Chorrol as he'd anticipated and, as he was neither a scout nor a tracker, Lucien quickly lost whatever trail she'd left into the wilderness. Vicente would have his head if the vampire learned how out of practice the Speaker was in finding his targets beyond urban centers. Lucien was nearly ready to give up and return to civilization in search of rumors regarding her. But before he could follow through, Shadowmere took command of her own rein and plunged into the wilderness.

The brazen act took Lucien by surprise. Shadowmere had not done this before. She had never acted anything but the obedient steed for him, and Lucien's first inclination was to fight her back under control. But Shadowmere was no mere horse. And if she was choosing her own path then, not only was there no deterring her, there must be a reason as well. Perhaps…Lucien found his chest tightening along with his grip on the rein. What if she knew Lucien's wish and…could somehow track Sharah when her rider could not? What if the mare knew where Sharah was and was bearing her rider to her?

Lucien had no reason to believe this to be true and no proof that Shadowmere's path was toward Sharah. But…he slackened the rein regardless and gave the horse the freedom to choose her course. And prayed to Sithis that he was not merely giving over to wishful thinking. Shadowmere did not require the permission and her direction remained steady and sure. She traveled straight to the south and west of Chorrol. Through the forests and out onto the rolling hills of the Colovian Highlands. She did not tire or slow and carried Lucien with no more regard than she might spare the saddle. And he did not hinder her. He slept in the saddle rather than attempt to make the horse stop and prayed fervently that Shadowmere was taking him where he wished to go.

At long last Shadowmere's pace slowed and Lucien discerned that her course would lead directly to an Ayleid ruin set into the hillside. The white stone entrance was minimal, worn away by the centuries it had spent forgotten. It could easily be missed in this far reaching landscape, even if there were still expansive chambers and passages beneath. But there was no way to tell if this was where he wished to be.

The Void steed veered slightly around a small pond that lay at the base of the hillside. Lucien saw a bay horse grazing by the shore. It shied from Shadowmere's approach, as most horses did, but bore the marks of tack and saddle although Lucien could see no such things within view. Shadowmere spared the creature a snort of derision and finished her path up to the ruin's entrance where she came to a stop, nodding her head as though satisfied. Lucien cast his eyes around the area. No trail. No camp. Only the horse by the shore indicated that anyone was about. But he hoped…he sincerely hoped…

Lucien dismounted and patted Shadowmere's neck softly. She shook herself, easing her back now that his weight was absent while Lucien stood looking at the entrance. He hoped she was within. He prayed she was. All this time he'd wasted at a distance and now...

Lucien's hand strayed, not to the shortsword on his belt, but the dagger tucked within his robe. He'd made it for her. The finest thing he had ever created. Meant to be a bribe in case words failed him again. He had made it with his own hands. Lucien was a craftsman above all things. He created poisons, fashioned instruments of death, crafted the perfect demises for his victims. But this was his finest work.

The blade was elegantly curved with a sharp but bold edge to ensure a deep bleed when used to cut. Perfectly balanced, with a haft sized to fit the hand he'd so often dwelt on in his mind, and bound in the softest doe hide. He could only hope that the heft was to her liking. Likewise the design of the hilt, meant to curve into her grasp when she held it. And, last but not least, a word engraved upon the blade. 'Woe'. Woe to any who tried to hurt her. Woe to any who made themselves her enemy. This weapon was made for her. To be a part of her. An extension of herself when she used it.

Lucien exhaled, his hand tightening briefly around the hilt. He'd never been so sentimental. Then he let it go and righted his robe. He didn't feel ready for this. All his planning and resolve and he still felt…nervous. Sithis take him, Lucien thought he'd skipped this stage of adolescent awkwardness. But it seemed even he was not immune to this weakness that had likely been waiting for the right moment to steal his confidence. A cruel sentence that it had to be this day. Years of distance and training and he was still standing on the threshold of this place with…hands that shook, a heart that pounded, and a mouth as dry as a desert. Sithis and damnation, how far had he fallen?!

This was ridiculous. He didn't even know if she was here. Lucien adjusted his robe a bit more, then tugged at his gloves. He wanted so much for this to go perfectly, but didn't know how to make it so. There was no way to pretend this was just another recruitment or a manipulation to achieve his ends. This was Sharah. And she was different to him. Lucien settled his belt and sword next. What if he couldn't speak? Or worse, what if he stumbled over his words? What if he made a fool of himself in front of her? The Speaker had actually reached up to check his hair before he realized what he was doing and cursed. All these torturous emotions made him want to turn around and leave rather than face her.

The dream he'd had cut him to the quick. He didn't have the option to leave. Not without condemning her. The assassin yanked the tail of his hair that was tied at the nape of his neck, growling. He had to do this. He needed to do this. No matter what happened inside. Even if the result made him want to crawl into a hole for a three hundred years, he was going to walk through these doors and speak to Sharah face to face. Because if he didn't, he was going to lose her. Perhaps not today, but soon. So Lucien dragged in and expelled a few more breaths, then pushed his way into the ancient ruin.

No lights. The place smelled old and undisturbed and the stairway down was not illuminated. Perhaps she wasn't here. It didn't seem anyone had been in a long time. The stair ended and there was a short passage at the bottom from which Lucien looked out into a large entrance hall. The ceiling was high and there were some sparse illuminations that still left the majority of the chamber in shadow. And he could see no indications of inhabitation. But there was still the horse outside to consider. He needed to check the entire ruin. Just in case. If Sharah was here, he couldn't afford to miss her.

Lucien stepped out from the passage and began to cross the chamber as swiftly as possible.

"Stop where you are!"

Lucien obeyed, but not by intent. The voice just seemed to short out his mind and body for an instant. Sharah. She was here. But where? Her voice came from everywhere at once. Lucien's eyes darted around erratically. Not in the immediate chamber. Not in the passage ahead. He looked up at the walls. She did not stand on the walkway on the next level. There was an intricate grate protecting a path higher up from that. He scanned it almost desperately in search of her. Desperate enough that he went right past her for an instant. But only for an instant. Then he latched all his attention onto the shadow that was a few shades darker than the rest.

It was her. It had to be. Lucien couldn't see her, but he knew. And the realization was at once a profound relief and a trigger for greater anxiety. Lucien had to swallow. Even at this distance he felt closer to her now than when he'd held her against him. Because this time, she saw him. She had to see him. Before, she couldn't have known him from behind the blindfold. And now that he stood directly within her sight, Lucien felt oddly naked. Stripped bare with no way to hide anything.

Not that it mattered. He was here, and so was she. They saw each other. The world outside this ruin seemed so inconsequential beside that. The Black Hand, the Brotherhood, all if it seemed small in this instant. The most important thing was here and now. This place and this time. Lucien looked up at the shadow that marked the woman he'd come for and tried to think of something to say.

XXX

Sharah was surprised the person in the robe had picked her out so quickly. She would have thought herself undetectable being shrouded in darkness, three stories above that chamber, and hidden behind a solid latticework grate. And that was the point. The Ayleids wouldn't have put their control panel here if they hadn't thought it secure from anyone below. But she didn't really know who she was dealing with or what skills or magical augmentations they had. And this arrangement had been made to handle invading armies, not lone hunters. Her hunter might even know these ruins. Which would effectively ruin the advantage she'd tried to cultivate here.

So Sharah just needed to keep her wits close and remain calm. She'd planned things out here and, if worse came to worse, she could always don Nocturnal's Cowl and slip out one of the escape tunnels. But that was a last resort. Sharah wanted to know who had come after her and why. So she didn't budge from her place and kept her hand on the Ayleid console.

She actually felt them looking at her. Even from all the way up here, Sharah could feel the intensity as they set their eyes on her. But she refused to let herself be rattled by it.

"Take a look up," she said loudly, making the chamber echo. The person below didn't obey at once. They remained looking at her for so long, she was sure it was just to spite her. Finally, they inclined their head toward the densely spiked ceiling. Sharah warned, "You're standing right in the middle of an Ayleid spike trap. And I've got my hand on the trigger. If I see something I don't like, I'll drop two tons of rock on you with those spikes at the head. And if you do manage to avoid it, know that this is not the only defense I've got set up. So it's in your best interest right now to stay put."

They were looking at her again by the time she'd finished. And while the distance and setting and their drawn hood hid the person's features from her, Sharah could still feel their gaze. The ferocity, the acuity. This was not someone she was going to toy with. But they'd still come looking for her and her first priority was finding out the who and why. So she fought down the growing anxiousness that she felt building within her and said aloud, "I want to know who you are, who sent you and why."

They remained silent. Sharah knew for certain now that they were just doing it to throw her off and make her fidget. Nearly worked too. And when they finally spoke, it was in a deep languid tone that he needn't project in the slightest for her to hear him.

"I am a Speaker for the Dark Brotherhood. I have been sent here by the Night Mother and by Sithis. And I am here for you."

Sharah should have dropped the spikes on him there and then. Another assassin from the Dark Brotherhood. It seemed they'd finally gotten around to sending someone to kill her. She should just crush him and be done with it. But something stayed her hand.

To hide her hesitation, Sharah asked, "How many of you are there?" The man did not answer. Sharah tensed her jaw in irritation, but still could not bring herself to trigger the trap. She leaned forward and demanded again, "How many assassins did you bring with you?"

"None," he finally said. "I came alone."

Sharah's eyes flicked toward the entrance passage anyway. Of course he would say that. Why admit to having someone with him? All he had to do was distract her long enough for someone else to sneak in, skirt the trap panel and bypass her little setup here. She wasn't going to let them do that. So Sharah shifted slightly to better see the entrance while still keeping an eye on the one she'd caught.

He speaks truth.

She frowned. There it was again. Her instinct that wasn't an instinct, sounding very clearly in the back of her mind that the assassin in her trap was telling the truth. Sharah's frown deepened. There was no reason to think that. Why would any assassin caught in a trap tell their captor that he had no backup? Why would he tell her that he was completely at her mercy? So that she would let down her guard, he could escape, and kill her. That was why.

There is no threat.

Sharah gritted her teeth until her jaw hurt. She'd had this urging before and, admittedly, it had been right at the time. But how could there be no threat here? This was an assassin who had just said he'd come for her. That was the very definition of a threat.

There is no threat.

Only because he was standing unmoving in a trap! She wasn't letting down her guard.

"You're late," she said, trying to sound surer than she felt. "You should have made your move months ago. Or were you waiting for something?" Sharah thought she discerned a flinch and it gave her confidence. "Well, I don't care what contract you've got on me, or even if this is a Brotherhood vendetta. You'd be smart to walk away. I'll even let you live if you just leave the way you came in."

The man lifted his head and spoke up to her, "You believe I am here to kill you?"

"Well that's kind of obvious," she retorted. A sound drifted up to her, barely discernible, even in the otherwise silent expanse. Sharah strained forward to hear and realized he was chuckling. "You're going to try and convince me you're not?" she demanded.

"I assure you, my dear, for my purposes I wish you to remain very much alive," he responded.

"So you can pay me back for what I did to your assassin," Sharah snapped angrily.

The man remained utterly in control, "That matter has long been put to rest. I am here for the sake of something else entirely."

Sharah was tense all over, on edge from everything going through her head. Common sense told her he was dangerous and her enemy. And this instinct she'd trusted for so long was telling her something that couldn't possibly be true: that she should trust what he said. This was not turning out as she'd thought and she didn't know how to handle it. And it did not help that Sharah could still feel him looking at her. Yet still she could not press down on the Ayleid trigger.

"And what might that be?" she finally choked out through her teeth.

Just like Sharah could feel him looking, she felt him smile. "I have come to bring you a proposition."

Her eyes narrowed, "What proposition?"

"It is not a slight subject. I will discuss this with you face to face."

"So you can stick a dagger in my side? Not going to happen. You can either say it from there or get out."

He didn't move. "Your caution is admirable. But, as I said, killing you would defeat the purpose of my being here."

There is no threat.

Sharah growled. She was _not_ going down there. She was _not_ going to let this Brotherhood assassin near her. She might be in the wolf state of mind, but Sharah was still Master of the Fighters Guild. Her going out to adventure was one thing. Getting herself killed was something else. It was why she'd set up a slew of traps rather than ambush the hunter in person. And she was not going to give him the chance to kill her. For the sake of her Guild, she was not giving him the chance.

"I don't care. Whatever proposition you've got, I'm not interested. Now get out or I'll turn you into paste!"

The assassin still didn't budge and his tone was resolute, "I am not leaving here without you."

'_Yeah, right',_ Sharah thought. Then, as if to prove the point, the assassin crossed his ankles and descended gracefully down to sit upon the floor right beneath the sharpened spikes. Sharah's hand leapt from the console to claw into the grate that rattled from the force of her grab, "Are you insane?!"

His far reaching eyes blazed into her, undeniable and unmovable, "I will not leave without speaking with you. But I have gone to a great deal of trouble for the sake of this meeting. I am entitled to see your face." His voice descended but remained easily discernible, "And the thought of harming you never crossed my mind."

Truth.

'_Stop that!'_ she thought fiercely.

Looking down at the assassin, Sharah knew that everything about this should warn her away. Everything screamed 'bad idea'. Told her she'd get a knife in her this way. Everything except for that unapologetic voice that continued to sound its opinion from the back of her head.

How could this be a good idea? How could this not end badly? How could this be anything but dangerous?

But that little instinct that wasn't…Sharah had to remind herself that she'd never come to harm following it. True, there had been that incident in Bruma, but acting the wolf had helped her best Hafnir Iron-blood. Sharah squeezed the grate hard for a moment. She'd feel a lot better if she could call up that numbing shroud right now, but it eluded her. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad, stupid, idiotic…

"Go forward," her mouth spoke. "Down the hall. Take the second left. I'll meet you in that chamber. And…watch the dart trap thirty feet beyond the turn. It triggers at a twelve inch proximity. And fires at an interval."

He rose as gracefully as he'd descended and spared her another moment's fixed attention before moving in the direction she'd indicated. Sharah looked after him as he stepped off the edge of the spike trap and finally disappeared through the far doorway.

Bad idea. Stupid idea. Bad, bad, stupid, bad, stupid, stupid, stupid, bad…Those two words were her mantra as Sharah left the control station and slowly traced a path through the ruin to where she'd told him to go. If Sharah got stabbed over this, she was going to deserve it.

The room she ended up in was smaller and better lit than the entrance chamber. The assassin was standing at the rooms' center, turning on the spot. Probably looking for her. Sharah was on the level above him. She might be stupid, but she wasn't _that_ stupid.

From the edge of the platform she could see the outline of the mobile staircase that was now sunken flat into the floor. It could be activated or deactivated with the push of a button, rising into steps or descending flat respectively. Sharah had broken the one down there and flattened the stairway from up here. Visually, she was more vulnerable here than in the control rom. But this height rift provided her some protection. And when the assassin caught sight of her, she could tell he was less than pleased. And Sharah didn't care.

"You wanted face to face? This is as good as you get. I can see your face and you can see mine. So say what you came to say so I can tell you I'm not interested. Or you can just leave." Sharah hoped this denial of his 'oh so important' condition of their talk might induce some response. But no. The assassin didn't react in the slightest. He did reach up and cast the hood from his head fully, revealing his face.

He was a fine looking man. Very fine. High cheekbones and strong jaw to enhance and outline his narrow face. His nose was straight as an arrow over full lips. And his skin was pale, accentuating his rich brown hair and dark piercing eyes. Eyes once again settled on her person, that she could feel like a physical weight. It was the eyes that proved him a predator, bottomless and cold, able to catch and pierce as he was doing now to her. Sharah crossed her arms and locked herself in place. This assassin was probably used to getting what he wanted, either by manipulation or just by taking it. But she'd be damned if she'd let him know just how tense she'd grown in the short time he's been here. And mostly the result of him just looking at her.

"My name is Lucien Lachance," he finally said.

Sharah stayed absolutely still, try into appear strong, "I don't care what your name is."

"You will," he replied quietly.

She shoved down the surge of unease. "What do you want?" He said something indiscernible. Sharah stepped to the platform's edge and demanded, "What?"

Lucien Lachance of the Dark Brotherhood raised his head abruptly. "You." His eyes were smoldering and Sharah suffered a response she didn't recognize. The anxiety in her system got worse and her fingers tightened their grip on her arms.

The assassin continued, never looking from her face, "…The Night Mother has been watching you for some time. Even before you interrupted the contract. And she is…most _pleased_ with you." A shiver ran up Sharah's spine. From the unsettling image of a mistress of death stalking her, no doubt. "Your talents have been noticed. Your death craft judged worthy. And so I am here. I have come to you with an offering…to join our family."

Sharah blinked, "You're here to recruit me into the Dark Brotherhood?"

"I am."

He seemed so smug until her laughter cracked the chamber's quiet and bounced back and forth around the walls. "Well, Mr. Lachance, I can now say with complete certainty that I am not interested in your proposition and I will not be joining your band of cutthroats."

He either recovered quickly from her unexpected response or had not been affected by it at all. "This is not an opportunity to be scoffed at. And those chosen are not chosen lightly. You are not chosen without reason."

"I have a guild," Sharah informed him, feeling some of the anxiety fall away, "And you wasted a trip."

"If you have a guild, then why are you not with them now," the assassin inquired.

Sharah defended herself. "Because I knew I didn't need their help to deal with you. My absence will soon be remedied. And you can leave anytime you'd like. Don't let the darts hit you on the way out." Sharah turned on her heel and walked back toward the passage. She'd put on Nocturnal's Cowl once out of sight, just to be safe, then leave the ruin by an escape tunnel.

The assassin wasn't giving up. "This is not an offer you can refuse," he called after her.

"Well, I am," she responded, "I am not an assassin. I am the Master of the Fighters Guild. And you can tell the Brotherhood I said 'no'."

But he persisted. "You are of like-mind to us. You enjoy the taking of life that you do. Something the Fighters Guild couldn't possibly understand."

"Talk all you want, assassin. It won't change my decision," she called over her shoulder heading for the next chamber into the ruins.

She'd almost made it when he made his last bid, "Answer me one question before you go."

Against her better judgment, Sharah stopped in her tracks and turned slightly, "What?"

"Did you sleep well?" he asked.

She turned back completely, "Excuse me?"

His voice drifted to her easily though he was hidden from sight beneath the stone of the upper level platform. "Did you sleep well after your first kill?" he asked. His tone was low and beckoning. Sharah was ashamed when she answered the call by pacing right back to the edge.

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

The assassin looked up at her with a smile, knowing he had her on the end of a string even if she had no idea how he'd managed it. "You did, didn't you? And what about after your first murder? Because we both know you have. Did you sleep well, Sharah? Was you rest sound? I would venture that it was the finest sleep you've ever experienced."

Sharah couldn't make a sound through her tightening throat and his eyes had her shackled in place. "How did you kill them, Sharah? Did you do it when they were unawares? Or did they see it coming? Did they scream? Did they beg? Did they run? And did any of it make you hesitate in the least?"

His expression became oddly reassuring if no less captivating, "You are not alone in this, Sharah. But the people you surround yourself with cannot understand these things. It is not in their nature, and so they fear it and reject it. The Fighters Guild, the peasantry, the nobles, even the Gray Fox." Sharah started. How did he know about that?

"But I understand. We may never have spoken before now, but I know you better than any of them. I know that not a single taking of life you've done has disturbed your rest. I know your greatest ease is in darkness and silence. I know that you have a closer relationship to your blade than to anyone you have ever met. And I know that everyone, no matter how long or how briefly you have known them, whether you consider them friends or if they merely pass you on the street, you look at every one of them and you contrive how you might kill them if the need arose."

Truth.

Sharah felt the tightness in her throat spread down to her rib cage, making it hard to breath as she listened to him peel away her life and read the depths of her soul. How did he recognize these things about her that Sharah barely registered? He couldn't be right about all this. He just…couldn't.

Lucien Lachance extended his hand toward her, "Join us, Sharah. The Dark Brotherhood is a family above all things. And your soul is more kin to us than to the Fighters Guild. You belong with us. You will only truly belong with us."

Truth.

Sharah swallowed with difficulty. How had this suddenly become so hard? "I am not an assassin." The claim came out with much less force than before.

His hand fell, "Let us put that to the test then. A task to serve as your initiation, if you should chose to perform it." He looked briefly upon the wall of the platform, "But I will not say it from this distance. Let me come up to you. Not even the walls will be privy to what I will share with you."

Sharah's feet backed away from the edge of their own accord. But even out of his sight, she could still feel him watching her. This wasn't right. This couldn't be…This couldn't be right. This man hadn't even gotten near her and Sarah felt utterly vulnerable. Her whole being was coiled tight, ready to snap. And her sense of fight or flight was so knotted there was no telling which would break first. And all of it his doing. How had that assassin done all of it just by speaking and looking at her? How had he convinced her to actually consider joining the Dark Brotherhood, the guild of assassins, who she'd fought against in the past?

Sharah backed away until she was standing beside the button to trigger the stairs. How had it come to this? Before Sharah had the chance to think herself out of it, her hand reached out and jammed the trigger into the wall. The chamber was immediately filled with the sound of grinding stone as the stairs rose into place. But Sharah didn't move. Or it could be that she couldn't.

The stairs soon ceased their motion. A moment later, Lucien Lachance ascended into view, moving like the predator he doubtless was. Sharah remained motionless, watching his advance. He drew closer, step by step, growing in her vision, cutting off everything else until he was all she could see. And with every step her anxiety built to an unbearable level. A grain sack filled to bursting. A bent timber about to shatter. Sharah didn't know how much more she could take before lashing out.

Lucien Lachance continued his walk until they were scarcely inches apart. He was so close she could actually feel his body heat. And all Sharah could do was try and hold herself together while his eyes pierced deep into her soul and caged her. Her heartbeat was going out of control. The man endured no such response. He bent toward her. This was the part where she received a dagger in her gut and deserved it. Sharah's body rang with the anticipation of it. Or the anticipation of something.

He broke eye contact and brought his mouth to her ear. The warm air of his breath made her shiver as he whispered, "On the Green Road, between Bravil and Lake Rumare, lies the Inn of Ill Omen. There is a man there by the name of Rufio. Kill him and the Dark Brotherhood will welcome you with open arms."

Sharah's eyes fluttered closed. She tried desperately to put some mental distance between herself and the man who was overwhelming her senses. It didn't work. She swallowed, "I'm…not…an assassin…"

She heard his lungs expand as he breathed deep, then felt the rush of his sigh down the back of her neck. "I think otherwise. And, should you reconsider," Sharah jumped as a cold hilt was pressed into her hand, "take this, as a gift from me. A virgin blade. It thirsts for blood…and craves the touch of your hand."

The man was so close Sharah couldn't tell whether or not he was actually touching her. He breathed deep again and sent another warm rush of air down her neck. "Farewell, Sharah. I do hope we meet again soon."

The heat of him vanished, but he'd so successfully entranced her that Sharah swayed forward. Her foot jerked forward to prevent her falling and her eyes flipped open to see his retreating robe reach the top of the stairs. Lucien Lachance slipped down and disappeared from her sight.

She remained paralyzed for a moment more. Then all the feeling rushed back into her, the lightning storm of anticipation falling to substantial earth like a landslide. Her hands started to tremble and her lungs expanded and deflated rapidly, trying to make up for the time she'd stopped breathing. Sharah stumbled back until she hit a wall. Clambering like a newborn foal, she scrambled along the face and through the nearest doorway where she put a stone wall between her and where Lucien Lachance had been before her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor.

All the tension was still buzzing through her. Sharah had been through near death experiences that had left her less high strung. And working herself down was as laborious as deconstructing a chainmail shirt one link at a time. And took just as long. Gradually her heartbeat slowed, but Sharah kept going with the deep breaths.

Divines and Daedra, who was that man? The other assassin hadn't had a presence like that. No one she'd ever met had had that kind of presence. No wonder he seemed like he always got what he wanted. Just his eyes and his voice and he'd walked Sharah right into the palm of his hand. And she'd fallen for it every step of the way.

Sharah hunched forward to rest her head upon her wrist. Then adjusted to seek the coolness of the metal in her hand. She jerked back, only now fully realizing that Lucien Lachance had left something with her.

It was…beautiful. The blade was gently curved, and even holding it clumsily she could feel that the balance was dead on. Sharah took the sheath in her other hand and pulled it partly free, just out of curiosity. The first thing she saw was the engraved word at the blade's base: 'Woe'. Next was the blade itself, thicker than most other daggers. Sharah pulled it free and tested the edge by force of habit. Sharp. Sharp enough it sliced her skin and shed a single crimson drop before she pulled away. Sharah hissed and shoved the wound in her mouth while the drop meandered along the silvery surface. Great. If blade lore was to be believed, this meant the dagger truly belonged to her now.

An assassin's blade. No matter how beautiful, this dagger was an assassin's weapon. And she was not an assassin. Sharah wiped it clean of her mark and shoved it back in the sheath. She was not going to use it. She was never going to use this thing. The hilt was too small anyway.

Sharah stopped, then slid her hand properly around the doe skin wrapped handle, just experimentally. Divines and Daedra…it fit. It fit perfectly. Sharah was so used to choking up on her daggers because of her particularly petite hands that it was actually kind of shocking to find that this one fit her palm so ideally. How long had the Dark Brotherhood been watching her that they not only got a measurement of her hand, but actually went to the trouble of finding dagger that fit her?

Sharah held the dagger away, although she didn't actually let go of it. This was an assassin's blade. And she was not an assassin. She wasn't. She…she couldn't be.

But everything else Lucien Lachance had said…He could have learned she was particular to stealth from any number of people familiar with her style. And he could have deduced that part about her relationship with her blade. But her sleep…The way she looked at people…Sharah hadn't even noticed those things about herself. But they were true. Even though they shouldn't be. Some of the ways she'd killed people should have kept her up at night. But…they never had. And the second…Oh, Gods, she _did_ do that. Even to Oreyn. All this time and it had never stood out in her mind. Never even occurred to her. Sharah didn't even know when it had started. She groaned and sought again the relief of the dagger's cool metal.

How had he known? How had Lucien Lachance been able to tell all that about her? Was it because…it was true for him too? Did every assassin in the Dark Brotherhood do those things? Was that their mark? Was that what proved them to be assassins at all? And if so…what did that make her? An assassin?

All the 'almosts' in her life came to the forefront of Sharah's mind. All of the 'not quites' and 'nearlys' and 'close enoughs'. Was this why? Because she belonged there?

…Rufio…the Inn of Ill Omen…

Sharah shook her head hard and got to her feet. She couldn't think in here. She needed air. And to be not so close to where Lucien Lachance had been so close to her. Sharah peeked around the doorway, just to make sure he hadn't lingered, and saw no one. She was still going to leave by an escape tunnel. She was going to abandon her horse in front of the ruin for the same reason. Sharah did not, under any circumstances, want to meet that man again until after she'd come to a decision. Whatever that decision eventually was.

**Mmmmm, Lucien is so yummy...Did I just say that? Now to check the audience: Any girls hyperventilating? Any guys climbing the walls?...Any family members staring at you with an 'are you ok?' on their faces?**

**Review! Please review! As though you couldn't after that? REVIEW!**


	39. The Road in the Dark

**I'm on a roll! And thank you so much to my beta, Aletheya. You are so awesome for keeping me in line with this. Cheers to you! But I guess you get first view on my chapters, so it's kind of a fair trade. *squeak* I'm so lucky you found me!**

**Second little shpeel: I want to shout out to my readers. I don't say this often, so I'd like to say it now. You guys are incredible! I started putting this story up because it wanted out of my head, and the fact that I now have 70 people keeping track of this thing, especially with how long the chapters are...You guys are just incredible. I am so happy you read. So happy to read your reviews. So happy to get feedback and knowing that writing this goes further than just me. So, thank you.**

**Ok, I'm done gushing. (sniff) You go ahead, I'll...I just need a minute...(sniff)...**

The Colovian Highlands to Skingrad, Skingrad into the West Weald, avoiding any and all roads when possible and giving the Inn of Ill Omen a berth measured in miles. She'd probably passed into Elsweyr at one point, finally ending up in Bravil. And she still couldn't come to a decision. The little instinct that wasn't remained silent. And the numbing shroud was still unreachable. And Sharah was often reaching down to grasp the assassin dagger.

She should have dropped it somewhere and left it behind. But Sharah couldn't bring herself to do it. And every time she gripped the hilt, Sharah felt like it was telling her that this was how joining the Dark Brotherhood would be: a strangely perfect fit. That was when she let go of it and tried to forget it was still hanging from her hip.

The fighter stopped briefly at the guildhalls of both cities she passed through, mostly because she should. There were great hubbubs at both as the guild members greeted their new Master in person for the first time. And in both cases, Sharah bowed out again quickly, citing her Ra Gada Urge as an excuse. Her Guild accepted it too easily. But it gave Sharah the solace she needed to think. Not that it made making a decision any easier.

Down in Bravil with night already fallen, Sharah wandered the darkened streets, lost in her thoughts. It should not be this hard. The right answer was to drop the dagger down a well, avoid the Inn and Rufio, and pretend none of this had ever happened. The Dark Brotherhood would have no reason to come to her again and she could go back to her life before. Thoughts of her Guildmaster desk stacked with paperwork to be done soured her expression as Sharah sat down in the Lucky Old Lady plaza.

She looked around absently and realized that the plaza was boxed in by high Bravil buildings. But all the building faces that turned toward the plaza were devoid of windows. Sharah wasn't sure how that could have happened, but she was grateful for the little pocket of privacy it offered in this armpit of a city.

She couldn't join the Dark Brotherhood. They were murders, cutthroats, butchers of innocents. They killed people for gold and with no regard beyond that someone else wanted their victims dead. They were enemies of the Empire. They took life without pity or remorse…

And she hadn't? In Hackdirt, she'd killed all of them without hesitation. They'd screamed and begged and she'd done it anyway. She'd been downright ruthless with them. And that hadn't even been the end of it. She'd done the same with Ajum-Kajin. And the Companions. And Blackwood. Sharah put her face in her hands. Maybe there was more assassin in her than she thought.

Sitting quietly helped a little with the flow of thought. She'd always hurt or killed for a reason. Defense, offense, revenge. Not necessarily good reasons all the time, but a reason worth taking a life for. Assassinations would be like that, wouldn't they? People wished others dead for their own reasons. Some selfish: money, power, property. Others might be petty grudges or just bad decisions. But there would be others. Criminals that the law couldn't or wouldn't deal with. Revenge. Bad people who did harm to others but weren't stopped. Sometimes, assassins were just one evil dealing with a worse one.

What about Rufio? Who had he wronged? What had he done? Had he done anything? Was he an innocent? A criminal? A murderer himself? Worse? Sharah didn't know. She might never know. All Sharah knew for certain was that someone wanted him dead. And that was the point of this test. Could she kill someone for no more reason than she had been told to? Because if she became an assassin, she would not always get the 'why'.

Sharah cast her hands out flat on the stone seat and leaned back, lolling her head to look up at the statue for which this plaza was named.

"I don't suppose you have an opinion about this," Sharah said aloud. She received no answer beyond the old Lady's constant gentle smile. Sharah sighed, "Yeah, I kind of figured. This is all my choice, one way or another."

Sharah relaxed her spine and shoulders. Then snorted to herself. Great, now she was stalking to statuary. As though she didn't have enough problems.

She had done things that assassins did, and easily too. It was strange, but Sharah could see herself in the role. She had often toed the line between killer and murderer. Even stepped across it on occasion. But could Sharah live on the other side? However much she might act like an assassin, could she actually become one completely?

She groaned. Too many questions. And the answers were no more forth coming now than they had been yesterday. Or the day before that. The more Sharah suffered the internal debate, the more this decision seemed like a 'moment of truth' scenario. Which meant she would only know for sure at the Inn of Ill Omen. Sharah sighed. The inn's name was simply too fitting. But she had to go. After all this time wondering, it would weight on her mind the rest of her life if she didn't. If Sharah left Rufio alive, she was going back to Chorrol to be Guildmaster again. And properly, Ra Gada Urge aside. And if she killed him…there was no way to tell what path her life would take. But, one way or another, she had to know for sure.

XXX

No horse meant no boarding fee. Not that it was likely to cost much to stay here at all. The Inn of Ill Omen. Sharah frowned. It looked fitting for her task, too. Unassuming in the outside, almost like it didn't feel the need to be noticed, even standing on the side of the road. The building almost seemed a few shades darker than the surrounding landscape. And not just because the falling dusk was casting the entrance side of the building in shadow. But, perhaps that was just her mind playing tricks on her.

Sharah stood on the edge of the road, debating whether to approach the building, when a portly man came out to light the lantern by the door. He spotted her stand off and was elated, "Well I'll be a spotted snow bear, a customer! Hello, stranger! Welcome to the Inn of Ill Omen. We've got rooms free, and plenty of food and drink available. Nothing like good wine to lift the spirits, eh? Ha! Spirits! Right? 'Cause wine's a spirit. Haha!"

Nord humor…probably. After he stopped laughing, he leaned toward her as though to share a secret, "And I wouldn't bother with that place up the road. Faregyl Inn? I've heard they just got robbed by a bunch of ogres. You'd never see anything like that happen here."

He noticed her continued hesitation, but attributed it to something else. "Oh, don't mind the name of the place. Perfectly safe. Even got some private quarters if you'd prefer. I just couldn't bring myself to change it. Besides," he jerked a thumb up at what hung above the door frame, "I like the sign."

Sharah let herself be convinced and brought inside. The place was more dimly lit than most other inns. But that could be that, because they didn't get many customers, they had to cut back on the wax they burned. Although, the 'they' seemed to just be 'he'. The publican, introduced as Manheim, was the only one working…anything. He cooked the meal, served her, went about setting the room more to rights as though she might not notice his attempts to clean up. And he tended her as though she were his only guest. In fact, she almost was. Aside from a Redguard woman, who appeared and became kind of clingy to the Nord when she noticed the newcomer, Sharah seemed to be the only one in the place. The few tables were empty, no one at all even hiding in the room's shadows. No possible Rufios in sight. Maybe he wasn't even here.

She pushed her plate away after her meal, "So, um…you mentioned some private rooms."

The publican cleared away the plate in a flash and filled her glass again, "Yes, right down that trap door over there. Only one down there now is old Rufio. But he's pretty quiet. And the ones downstairs are more spacious than the rest. My personal recommendation."

Her grip on the goblet tightened, "Rufio?"

The publican barreled on without a care, "Yeah, some old codger who's been hiding out here for a while. Kind of cagey but he keeps to himself and pays his tab. But if he bothers you, just let me know and I'll put the fear of the Nine into him."

Sharah took a deliberate drink to wet her throat that had suddenly gone dry. It didn't help with the tingling feeling in her fingers though. "You know…I think a private room sounds good right about now," she said.

The publican put on a fresh grin and insisted she finish her drink, then proceeded to disappear down the trapdoor for a while. He reappeared after she was done, accepted her gold and showed Sharah downstairs. The hall below was even less lit than the inn above. Manheim unlocked the first door on the hall and showed her into a very nicely sized room. As big as her Waterfront shack, in fact. There were a number of candles that looked newly lit, and the air smelled of damp wood and a little dust. The sheen on most of the surfaces convinced her that they'd been very recently wiped down. And probably the blanket and pillows had been shaken. Business at this inn must be lean indeed.

"Just make yourself at home. Rufio's next door but he's usually asleep by now and shouldn't bother you. But just holler if he does. Or if you need anything else. Rest well, ma'am." The Nord bustled out and Sharah was left alone.

Sharah's pack slipped slowly from her shoulder and came to rest on the floor. She walked over and sat down on the bed and stayed there, looking at the neighboring wall. Her mark was next door. The man she was supposed to kill was just beyond that stone and mortar. The man she was supposed to kill to join the Dark Brotherhood. If she'd been sure of what she'd do next, Sharah would have cast 'life detect' to be certain he was there and alone. But she was still unsure. Instead she unhooked Umbra and set it aside on the mattress before lying back to put her head on the pillows. The assassin's dagger pressed into her leg as she lay out flat, reminding her that it was still with her.

Sharah lay awake for what must have been hours, awake long after the publican and that other guest had stopped moving around upstairs and retired. At one point Sharah rose to snuff out all the candles, then went back to lay quietly in the dark. Nothing stirred. No sounds from upstairs or next door. The inn was silent as though Sharah was the only person who existed in the space. It was dark, quiet, and she'd been lying still for so long she almost didn't feel her body.

Then she abruptly swung herself upright, put her feet on the floor and stood up. Across to the door, Sharah opened it a sliver to check for anyone in the hall, then stepped out and closed it soundlessly behind. Her feet carried her down the hall to the door of the second private room. It took longer to pull the Skeleton Key out of her pocket than it did for the Key to defeat the lock. Sharah stood with her hand on the door handle for an immeasurable length of time. Then she twisted it and pushed it lightly inward.

The bed was immediately visible, as was the mound under the blanket that moved like a person asleep. Sharah pushed the door open further, carefully surveying each foot of the room as it came into view. No one there but the one in the bed. Sharah cast one last look down the hall, then stepped through the open doorway and closed herself in.

Quiet. But not silent. In this room, the breaths of the one sleeping were easy to hear. And it was dark except for the single candle laboring to remain lit at the bedside. Sharah stood against the door looking across at the breathing mound under the blanket. She counted twelve slow breaths from the form, then put one foot forward. Then another. And then another. The stealth of her motions had more to do with their speed than her intent. Slowly, Sharah crossed the room to stand beside the bed. Rufio lay with his back to her, but she could just see his face. He was old, white hair, crow's feet and wrinkles. His face was thin and the fingers that peaked from beneath the blanket were likewise frail looking. The rest of him probably was too. And being asleep like this, he would be easy to kill. But Sharah only stood there, looking down.

She could still walk away. She hadn't done anything yet. She could just go back to her rom, wait 'till sunrise and then leave. Instead she just stood there…then reached to her hip and drew the dagger free of its nest. It fit as perfectly in her hand as any time before. Perfect weight and feel and ready to be used. She flexed her fingers over the doe skin shaft, drawing out the moment for a reason she couldn't choose: hesitation or anticipation. Then Rufio stirred and Sharah's heart went to her throat as he coughed, pawed his nose, then rolled over, offering her his chest, and then moved no more.

She could still leave. But she didn't. In the midst of what should have been the most significant decision of her life, Sharah stood on the verge and felt a profound sense of peace. Rufio's chest rose once… and fell…twice…

Her dagger snapped forward lightning fast and was instantly sheathed through his heart. He jerked and made a sound, his eye lids opening to half-mast. Then he exhaled slowly, his entire body deflating for the last time as the life flew from him. The man went limp, his mouth lolling some and his eyes unseeing. Sharah pulled her dagger free and wiped it on his shirt. Then she rolled him away slightly and pulled the blanket up to hide the blood and wound before stepping back. He looked exactly like when she'd first walked in. But this time there were no breaths being drawn.

That was it. It was over. She had killed Rufio. And it had been easy. Altogether easy and—

"Beautiful."

Sharah spun around, her dagger out in front, ready to strike. Cloaked in the shadows in the corner of the room, Lucien Lachance stood with that hint of a proud smile and his unwavering gaze upon her. The woman hadn't expected him to be here…but she wasn't surprised. She'd have kicked herself for not checking the room with a spell before except that, in the aftermath of her murder, Sharah felt…at peace. So the dagger's point gradually descended and she stood straight, waiting for whatever came next.

Lucien Lachance beckoned to her. "Come."

She didn't move at once. But what choice did she have? Sharah had completed her initiation. The evidence was behind her, clear as crystal. She'd killed the mark as instructed and now…she was a part of the Brotherhood. An assassin. The choice was already made and what came next was beyond her.

Sharah sheathed the dagger deliberately and went to where he was now standing by the open door. She passed through at his indication and Lucien Lachance closed it behind him, locking the door with a key of his own. She followed him as they walked down the hallway and came to her room.

"Get your things," he instructed. "Then we will leave."

Sharah stopped in her tracks. "Wait. I can't." When he turned back to her, looking displeased, Sharah hurried to explain, "The publican saw me here. So did that woman. If I disappear and they find Rufio dead, they'll know I did it. They'd have to be idiots not to."

The man's smile returned. "Your concern is well founded. You may kill them, if you would feel more comfortable leaving no witnesses." Sharah felt a tremor in her stomach. His smile changed in some aspect, "But in this case, I do not believe that will be necessary. Manheim Maulhand is familiar with many less reputable circles. The Dark Brotherhood among them. When he discovers Rufio, he will clean up the mess and know to remain silent about you. Now," he reached out and opened the door to her room for her, "Collect your things. It is time to go."

Sharah went in and about hooking Umbra to her belt and picking up her pack. Lucien Lachance waited expectantly for her. While his eyes were still intense and seemed to be on her anytime she checked, Sharah was beginning to grow accustomed. So that was something.

Walking back to him, Sharah felt like she was being uprooted. Even with everything that had happened so far in her life, the two houses she owned, her leadership in the Fighters Guild, it seemed like she was carrying her entire existence with her right now. Nothing more than a leaf on the wind. And this man…this assassin, was going to carry everything she was away to somewhere else. And there was no avoiding it. By killing Rufio, Sharah had agreed to whatever it was that was coming. And by Lucien Lachance's satisfied expression, he knew it, too.

He closed the door behind them and stepped to her back.

"Come," he whispered, and Sharah felt a slight pressure against the small of her back. Sharah did not resist. She followed his guidance upstairs and out of the inn's front door into the unknown.

XXX

Lucien had never experienced this sort of light chested joy before. And he'd thought he'd been happy to see her in the ruin. That was nothing compared to this. He could not get enough of the sight of her. But he did restrain his touch to three fingertips on her back, even though all he wanted was to put an arm around her waist and mold her to his side. But that would be stepping too far too soon.

She was calm. Almost resigned to what was happening. And a little nervous, clutching her pack like it was all she had. Lucien wanted to reassure her, but the words stuck in his mouth. In spite of her uncertainty, she went with him willingly. She'd done exactly what he'd told her was needed for her to join the Brotherhood. And masterfully. The concealment after the fact was a good touch. From what he'd gathered about the terms of Rufio's lodging, the proprietor wouldn't find him until the body began to smell.

And Sharah was here with him. She had joined the Brotherhood of her own volition. She was protected by the Tenets, had performed her first contract beautifully. But best of all of it, she knew Lucien's face and name and voice. And, before too long, he hoped she might learn exactly what he felt for her. But slowly. No matter how much he wanted her, Lucien was going to take his time to be certain he didn't frighten her away with his…intensity. He wouldn't be able to bear that. So he would be patient and do this slowly.

Keeping his fingertips in contact with her, Lucien took Sharah around the side of the inn and into the forest where he'd left Shadowmere to wait. The Void mare raised her head at their approach, flaring her nostrils at the newcomer. Sharah's pace slowed when she saw the creature, taking apt notice of the beauty and power she beheld.

"This is Shadowmere," he told her. "She will bear us where we are going faster than any horse that has lived."

As they came within reach, Lucien prepared to intervene at the first sign of aggression. Shadowmere had been known to eat the fingers she bit off. But no such thing happened. She extended her head forward to investigate, scenting at Sharah's torso. Sharah stood still under the scrutiny and when she offered her hand, Shadowmere took a step forward and bent to lip her palm gently. Lucien had never seen the mare so docile but was glad he did not have to defend Sharah from her…in part. He would have liked the opportunity to be her defender.

The introductions complete, he urged her toward Shadowmere's side and the stirrup of the saddle.

"Mount."

Sharah removed her pack and strapped it to the saddle's rear, put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up the significant height into the seat. Then she kicked her feet free and made to scoot back behind the cantle to the accustomed place of a mounted passenger. Lucien put a stop to that. Before Sharah could move, he duplicated her motions and seated himself on Shadowmere directly behind her. At the rapid change in proximity, he felt Sharah stiffen, then immediately try to move away toward the pommel. The Speaker didn't give her the opportunity to do anything more. He scooped up the other stirrup and dug his heals into Shadowmere's sides even before he took the rein.

Shadowmere surged forward, throwing Lucien back into the saddle and Sharah back into him. It was by instinct rather than thought that he looped his arm all the way around her waist and held her near. Sharah didn't seem to notice as the speed of the ride and the power of the steed had her enchanted in an instant. The motions of Shadowmere's tireless strides soon squeezed every breath of air from between the two who shared her back, molding them together like Lucien had wanted outside the inn.

The mare knew her path, so Lucien could dedicate all his attention to the ride itself. The warmth of Sharah's body bled through their clothing to reach him, providing a stark contrast to the rushing night air around them. They moved together like one entity. Her scent streamed back to caress him from the inside and her hair fluttered feather soft against his neck as it blew. And, in profile, he saw her eyes glitter in exhilaration.

Lucien held on tight and closed his eyes, feeling and breathing her into him. This ride could not last long enough. The distance to their destination already seemed too short and Shadowmere's speed too swift. But Lucien knew that even a year like this would leave him wanting at the end. So he kept his eyes closed and felt everything, sensed everything, letting the memory burn itself into his mind. If only it would last forever.

But perhaps it needn't end quite as soon as necessary. Lucien had made preparations for some future time. But now seemed too right for him to pass up the chance to spend more time with her. He knew this would be a rare occurrence: when there was only Sharah and himself, with no Black Hand or Brotherhood business looming over them. And he did not want to end that so soon.

Lucien tugged on the rein a bit. And Shadowmere, being of rare intelligence, deduced his intent and set toward a new destination. Content with this change, Lucien returned his attention to the woman against him, soaking in every instant as if to drown in her presence.

XXX

She had never traveled so fast. It hardly seemed possible. But seated on this horse, if it could really be called that, Sharah wasn't so sure they weren't flying across the ground everything was passing so fast. She was actually grateful Lucien Lachance was holding on to her, because she felt like she might actually be tossed off into the air otherwise. Sharah kept her thighs tight, although her hips began to protest at the sheer girth of the great creature. Any discomfort was soon forgotten in the magnificence of the ride.

The forest was a blur around them, the path ahead coming so quickly that Sharah could hardly have kept track of it. She didn't know how the assassin at her back did. But he was probably used to this sort of travel. Did all the assassins ride such horses? They rushed upon the day as it dawned, reaching the great Imperial Bridge before midday even though it was ordinarily a long day's ride from the inn. How fast were they going?

The day seemed too pass quickly in this setting, as they seemed to be flying through the time and not just over distance. The forest ceased at the bridge, and beyond that were the rolling green hills of the Nibenay Basin. Hours passed in a flash and as the sky began to tint, the horse slowed and the blur of the world began to come back into focus. The horse weaved through the trees and shrubbery of the wilderness with such skill that not a leaf or branch came into contact with the riders. Her hooves found purchase wherever she placed them until a cabin eased into sight between the trees. This seemed to be their destination. The horse, Shadowmere, came right up to the front door and stopped with no visible signal from Lucien Lachance.

Sharah was still catching her breath and waiting for her sensibilities to catch back up with her after they stopped. The assassin released his hold slowly, almost hesitantly if Sharah regained the frame of mind to notice. But his swift dismount convinced her there was nothing to be read into. She braced on the pommel and swung her leg over to drop down after him. Mundus was a lot farther away than she remembered, and when she hit the ground her legs bowed and she had to grab the saddle to keep from falling. Sharah had ridden plenty of horses, but apparently Shadowmere was a lot bigger than she seemed, even at first glance.

She felt a brush against her elbow and looked around to see Lucien there beside her. "I'm alright," she said, not wanting to seem weak to him and forced her legs to bend back inwards to the correct walking position. A few steps helped to resettle her and she looked at the house. It seemed very modest and comely. Not at all what she'd think of as an assassin's hideout. But that would be the point, wouldn't it?

"Is this…where the Dark Brotherhood stays?"

He reached up to detach their packs from the saddle, "No. But this is where we will stay tonight. I will take you to the Sanctuary tomorrow."

"Sanctuary?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "It is a place of safety that houses our family. It is hidden and contains all we need. But we will go there tomorrow. Tonight, we will rest here."

Sharah took her pack from him and looked again at the cabin, "Is it yours?"

"No. But it is empty and we will make use of it." The assassin began unbuckling the saddle. "Go inside and make yourself comfortable. I will join you soon."

Sharah nodded and went in. The cabin was dark, but the windows let in the early evening light and gave her enough to find the candles without bumping into anything. It didn't smell musty and there wasn't any dust anywhere, so it couldn't be too out of use. Sharah lit some candles and a lamp, and then went to start a fire in the hearth. There was wood enough inside to do so and the house was soon lit.

Sharah explored a little while she was alone. It was modest indeed. A one room home with a single good sized bed, a table, cabinets, living supplies… As well furnished as her home on the Waterfront, although enough for more than one person. There were carvings in the wood of the mantelpiece, all done by hand. Sharah found some words as she brushed her fingers across them and bent closer to read them. 'Corrick and Kayleen'. The previous owners of the house? Given the symbols that encircled the names and went up and down the wooden length, it had been done with love. How long ago had they left, she wondered.

The door opened and Sharah turned to see Lucien Lachance enter. He set his bag by the door and carried a bucket of water to the hearth. "You may sit if you wish."

She didn't really know whether to take it as a suggestion or an instruction, so she just did it, choosing a chair at the table. The assassin paid her little focused attention. He filled a kettle and placed it over the burning fire. Then went to peruse the supplies in the cabin. He chose carefully, some of the foodstuffs not meeting with his approval. He went to his pack for whatever else he wanted and began preparing a meal. It was a little odd to see him do it. Sharah had been overwhelmed by his…mystique. And now to see this man, the very definition of the dreaded Dark Brotherhood assassins, doing something as mundane as cooking was strange to her.

And here she was watching and doing nothing. "Can…I help?" she asked, tentatively.

Lucien Lachance looked over, his eyes flicking up and down, as if judging how useful she might actually be to him. Sharah thought he might refuse. Then he extended his hand in wordless invitation, so Sharah stood and went to him. It seemed to be something that didn't change. He called, she came. Sharah did whatever task he placed in her hands. The evening came on and the meal proceeded with little spoken. Most of the time, Sharah found the silence to be awkward. But she had no idea what to say or what to talk about. He didn't seem the type to do a lot of talking, anyway. And why, even when he wasn't looking at her, did it feel like he was?

Finally the food was ready. Lucien Lachance bid Sharah sit at the table and placed the meal in front of her before taking a seat himself. They ate together but really, Sharah barely tasted the food. The silence was starting to get to her. To the point that she decided she had to try something. "So, uh…Mr. Lachance. I guess I should…um…What do you do? In the Brotherhood, I mean." Well that had come out embarrassingly…embarrassing.

He replied unperturbed, "I am a Speaker. I oversee the Sanctuary we will be going to tomorrow and all the members therein. I meet our clients, arrange our contracts and deliver them to our members. All the members of my Sanctuary answer to me, and in any regard. Another of my duties is to find exceptional individuals, such as yourself, and offer a place within our family."

"So, you're in charge," she ventured.

He chuckled and set down his cup, "Not quite. I am one of four Speakers of the Dark Brotherhood. Each with their own Sanctuary. They are scattered over Cyrodiil, hidden from the populous. Each houses a particular group of assassins, and each Sanctuary answers to their Speaker. As a member of my Sanctuary, you will be mine. And no other Speaker may…give you instruction." Sharah tried to ignore the shiver that ran up her spine.

Lucien Lachance frowned slightly, "There is little interworking at all between the Speakers or their Sanctuaries. We are kept separate so that, should one be compromised, the others will go unaffected." The shadow remained over his expression and he continued, "The leader of the Dark Brotherhood is the Listener. The Night Mother speaks only to him. He received the names of our clients and directs the Brotherhood by her instruction. He is…vital." The last word came out as a growl. Sharah didn't dare ask on what terms the two were on. Lucien proceeded, "The Listener and the four Speakers make up the Black Hand. A thumb and four fingers, as it were. The Black Hand is the Brotherhood's ruling body."

"And the Night Mother?" Sharah asked.

"Our matron," he replied with a smile. "She is our lady. Our guide. The reason for our existence. She is the one to whom our clients pray and gives their identities to the Listener so that the Speakers may be sent to find them. We serve her before any other, because Sithis took her as his bride in an age long ago. And he…You're not eating."

Sharah looked down at her plate, which she had ignored entirely while he spoke. "Oh…I guess, I'm just not that hungry." Not now that she was actually hearing about what she'd gotten herself into.

Lucien set down his fork, "If you are concerned with my poisoning you, you needn't be. Not only would the act end your usefulness, but it would break a Tenet."

"Tenet?"

He nodded, "One of five. Laws that the Dark Brotherhood abides by, that have guided and protected us for centuries."

"And killing each other is one?"

"Tenet five."

"And the others?" Sharah asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from whatever she was feeling.

Lucien Lachance raised his hand and extended his fingers as he recited the rules she would live by, "Tenet 1: Never dishonor the Night Mother. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 2: Never betray the Dark Brotherhood or its secrets. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 3: Never disobey, or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 4: Never steal the possessions of a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis. Tenet 5: Never kill a Dark Brother or Dark Sister. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis." Sharah felt a cold sensation run through her following each one. He lowered his hand, "You're still not eating."

Sharah nudged her plate away, sitting back, "And not likely to." She raked her fingers back through her hair. What had she really done by killing Rufio?

"Sharah." She looked up and Lucien Lachance's eyes shackled her again, but seemed softer. "Eat. Your training will begin shortly after we arrive. And you will need your strength."

She felt her chest freeze up. Then she tore her eyes from him and ate, just about shoveling the food into her mouth, and only to be done with it. This was going to be a long night. When the plate was clear she pushed it away again, looking at her…Speaker. He appeared pleased but said nothing, finishing his own meal far more daintily than she had as the awkward silence returned. Sharah sighed and looked over at the fire. This was going to be a long night. Then she caught sight of the door.

She shifted a little in her seat, "Um…may I go outside for a while?"

Again, she got the impression he was going to refuse. But instead he responded, "You are not a captive. You may do as you wish. I only ask that you return before too long. There is far yet to go, and you will need your rest as well."

Sharah stood and went slowly to the door under his gaze, testing the truth of the freedom she hadn't realized she'd retained. He did not stop her, so she went outside. _Not a captive._ That felt true and not true. The assassin hadn't exercised any restraints over her so far. But she was still trapped by this choice she'd made. Her life now was in the Dark Brotherhood. And while she had a better grasp of it than before, she still had no idea what was waiting for her or what to expect.

The sky was dark by now, but Sharah could still pick out where she was walking and began a path around the clear area between cabin and forest. A pair of bright red embers in the dark made her stop. But the whicker that came after relaxed her. Lucien's horse could just disappear against even a dim background. Sharah came up to the mare and offered her hand again in greeting. The horse lipped it a bit more firmly than the first time, then investigated her way up Sharah's arm and around her clothes. Probably looking for a treat hidden away somewhere.

The horse provided a much appreciated distraction, and was still as beautiful as the first time Sharah had laid eyes on her. She'd never seen a horse like this in all her days. Shadowmere was as large and powerful as the northern horses, but had all the beauty and elegance of the southern breeds. Her mane and tail were thick and soft, just like her coat. The red eyes took some getting used to. Sharah was no judge of horseflesh, but she didn't think there was a horse out there that could come close to this one in any aspect.

Sharah reached out and touched the wide cheek. The mare leaned into the hand so Sharah was obliged to start scratching. Not hard enough, apparently, because Shadowmere began bobbing her head up and down, pushing against the curled fingers. Sharah laughed out loud a little and held as firmly still as possible while the mare used her hand as a scratching post. The difference between here and inside was appreciated. The woman stroked her way up Shadowmere's head, giving a good scratch behind the ears and then proceeding down her neck, running her hands along the powerful cords of muscle that flexed beneath the silky coat. The horse rubbed and butted Sharah a little to get certain spots, enjoying the attention. Sharah was just glad to have some friendly companionship instead of…just Lachance.

What was really supposed to happen to her now? Sharah had just taken the biggest step of her life…no, _out_ of her life, and still didn't know what came next. Even with what he'd told her inside, she didn't have any grasp of her future. What would the Sanctuary be like? What would her training be like? What about her jobs? Or the rest of the assassins she would be living with?

She thought briefly of Dagail's letter. _The darkness has found you…_ _It comes for you, surrounding you. I can see nothing past it._ Sharah sighed. Not just a crazy magister. _I cannot see what lies ahead._ That was exactly what Sharah was dealing with. The magister had called it all beforehand, and Sharah had been too ignorant to understand.

When Sharah had been in Chorrol, her future was clear and easy to see: being Guildmaster, living in Chorrol. Everything looked simple and easy to anticipate. And now…_All is impenetrable darkness_. Sharah was being cast into a world she'd never come in any contact with. Not even in the Thieves Guild. The Dark Brotherhood kept their secrets well. And Sharah didn't know where she was going. What she'd be doing. How she would be living or with who. Sharah sighed again. And here she'd thought she's taken some measure to protect herself in that ruin. Not in the least.

Sharah felt a tugging on her arm. Shadowmere had taken to lipping around Sharah's clothes when her attentions stopped and was now chewing on the strap of Sharah's guild patch. "Hey. Hey! Stop that!" The instant Sharah moved to make her let go, the leather broke and Shadowmere pulled away with the strap dangling useless in her mouth. Sharah stared at her swaying patch while Shadowmere froze on the stop and stared back, like she just realized that this wasn't ok.

Sharah grabbed the strap, "No! Bad horse! Give that back. Drop it. Now!" Shadowmere let go and hung her head in animal shame. Sharah turned away and felt her way around the strap that was still damp with horse spit, ragged at the edges and indented with teeth marks. Sharah cast a flare to look closer. The strap was useless now, completely ruined. But at least her patch was still intact. She glared back at Shadowmere. "Bad horse." The large head dropped lower.

Sharah looked back at her hand. The strap had lasted six years and now fell to the teeth of a horse. She sighed. It wasn't like she would be wearing this patch very often now. It was an identifying mark. She couldn't wear something that distinct if she was out murdering people. But still…it was a remnant of the honorable life she'd had the chance to lead. If she'd been smart and gone back to the guildhall after receiving that letter.

She worked the patch off of the ruined strap and tucked it into her pocket. It hurt a little for her Fighters Guild lifeline to come off so easy like that. Sharah froze and cast life detect, suddenly struck with the desire to know where the assassin was. Still in the cabin. She'd half expected him to be standing right behind her to witness the loss of her patch. Now he'd probably think she'd taken it off on purpose. Maybe she should pretend she had. Better by intent than the result of his horse's bad habits. Then Sharah could pretend she wanted this wholly. She'd have to pretend because, even after killing Rufio and going willingly with Lachance, Sharah was still uncertain about everything.

She let the spell fade and started walking around the cabin again, closer to the wood, needing a little more time to herself. The gentle clop of hooves followed her. Sharah stopped and looked back, and Shadowmere froze and her head went back to the almost apologetic height. The woman crossed her arms, "Are you supposed to keep an eye on me?" The ears flicked toward her. Sharah sighed again and went back to her walk, still not ready to go back inside to him. The sounds of the horse followed.

The darkness didn't prove too much of an issue for her. At least until she smacked her knee against a solid rock. Sharah cursed and backed off, almost into Shadowmere. She quickly cast a flare in order to see what she'd hit while she rubbed the hurt furiously. It was a tombstone. Sharah looked closer to read the inscription. 'Kayleen Northwode, cherished wife'. Kayleen. The name on the mantle. Was this why the house was empty? Because she had died and her husband had left?

Sharah took a step back and kicked something. It was a shoe. A man's shoe. She looked closer…With a foot in it! Sharah leapt away. What in Oblivion?! Shadowmere stepped past her to sniff at the shoe, then sniffed again and looked up and into the forest. Sharah lifted her light but the shadows resisted the illumination. Her stomach turned, but she stepped forward anyway. There were some broken branches and a little disturbed earth that looked about a week old. Sharah swallowed and lifted her light higher. A trail revealed itself. Another dozen feet ahead, her light fell upon the thing she'd come seeking and Sharah wished she hadn't.

A gruesome, mostly eaten body, ribs bare, with cloth still clinging to it. The eyes were plucked out and other jagged chunks removed from the face. Most of the rest of the flesh was gone, what remained was rotting and the left leg lacked anything beneath the ankle, proving ownership of the detached foot. Sharah let out a cry and stumbled backward right into the horse that had followed her. One hand flew across her mouth to keep from throwing up what Lachance had insisted she eat and the other seized a handful of mane at Shadowmere's neck in an attempt not to fall. Shadowmere moved, placing herself between Sharah and the ragged corpse. The woman closed her eyes and lurched back the way she'd come, slamming her shoulder into a tree trunk in the process. Another step put her foot into a bunch of brambles. She would have cursed if opening her mouth wasn't likely to loose her stomach.

The hand gripping the horse was pulled forward. Sharah just held on and followed, keeping her eyes tightly closed as the horse pulled her along. The undergrowth broke against her legs until she was brought out of the forest altogether. Shadowmere stopped and her nose went back, checking on the condition of her burden. Sharah kept her hand across her mouth fighting the urge to vomit. She could kill well enough to attract the Dark Brotherhood to her, but when it came to dead bodies, especially week old dead bodies, she couldn't handle it. The only way that could have been worse was if it had moved and attempted to stand.

Sharah knew that wasn't even the only thing afflicting her now. That had been Corrick. Had to have been. Sharah's eyes found Kayleen's grave again. And the deeper colored ground that the light of the moon only now chose to illuminate. She gagged again. He'd been killed at the grave of his wife. And then left to be dragged off and eaten by animals. And…she knew who had done it. Sharah looked toward the cabin. Who else?

The sight of that gruesome body was drawing up a reaction that Sharah's mind was still choosing a direction for. He'd done it. Lucien Lachance. Then he'd brought her here saying it was not his but empty and to be used. Had it been a contract? Was that why he'd killed the man? Or…had it just been to empty the house? Was he that heartless to kill for a night's shelter?

Sharah shivered and kept a hold of the horse's mane. She'd just come face to face with exactly what she'd agreed to by killing Rufio. And in the worst possible way. Sharah had been worried about where she'd fit in. About where she'd feel the most comfortable. She'd failed to even think about who she would be fitting in with. This wasn't some romanticized assassin cult full of people just like her. These were real murderers. People who wouldn't necessarily have any morality. Who killed only for gold or because they just liked the murder.

Sharah killed. But even if she actually murdered, she always had reasons. Morals that she still tried to guide herself by. She liked people. She did bad things to protect them or help them, because she wanted to help them when she was able. Wanted to do right by them, for the most part. And this…killing a man at the grave of his wife, for such a petty thing? If that had been the reason… If that had been the only reason Lachance ended his life…Sharah didn't know if she could be around someone like that, let alone answer to them. Sharah held on tight to Shadowmere. She didn't know if she could actually do this.

**More subdued LucienxSharah time, but it's not all gonna be like last chapter. Although, next chapter...Well, you'll just have to wait and see, won't you?**


	40. Under His Hand

**Thanks for your patience, guys. (sigh) I have discovered Skyrim. I swore I would finish this story before I let that game suck me in. It didn't work. So I'm afraid chapters will be slower in coming during this initial spurt of playing. On the plus side, if this wasn't an epic before, it will be now. Skyrim is growing a plot line in my brain as I type. Ugh! My brain is getting crowded.**

**On to the chapter. I hope you like it. I know I do.**

Lucien Lachance actually seemed to be waiting for her return when Sharah opened the door. The woman had no tact to muster, so she just blurted out, "Did you kill them? The people here before."

The assassin remained silent at first. Then he sat back and at ease in the chair, twining his fingers before him, "The woman was dead and buried when I found this place. But I killed the man, yes."

"Why?" Sharah demanded of him.

"That doesn't matter."

"It does to me. Why did you kill him!?" She had to know. Just like she went looking for that damned body, she needed to know the truth of this. "Was he a job?"

The Dark Brotherhood Speaker betrayed no emotion, maybe because he didn't have any. "No, he was not a contract."

"Then, why? What did you get out of killing him?" Sharah motioned to the cabin. "Was it about this? Was this the only reason?"

He replied matter-of-factly, "I wished to have a place of safety and privacy in which to stop. And this served. He was the only obstacle."

"You're heartless!" she spat.

"Heartless?" he inquired, looking straight at her. "He was suffering. Driven to the depths of despair by the loss of his wife. I ended his pain."

"That's just your excuse. He was a person! He didn't deserve to be killed just because you wanted what he had." How could she not have seen this coming? How could she have not seen this in him from the start?

The assassin said, "People have been killing for such reasons since the beginning."

"That doesn't make it right."

"And yet you killed Rufio for no more reason than that you were instructed to."

Sharah curled inward, hating what she saw within, "That was a mistake. I…I never should have—"

"No," he interrupted her, "It was not." Lucien Lachance kept his seat but it felt like he came closer. "You did as I told you, without hesitation. That is the only reason you ever need to take any life."

She looked up and glared at him, "No, it's not. It's not good enough. People's lives are worth more than that. They're worth more than their property or…" Sharah reached up to grip her forehead. What had she done?

He kept his tone calm, "You are upset. I can see that. But it changes nothing. The man is dead. As is Rufio. You made your choice and now you are one of us." He motioned to the bed, "Rest. It has been a long day. Use the night to calm yourself and we will speak more tomorrow when you are in a better frame of mind."

"No." She shook her head, feeling the tumult of emotion congeal into anger and being only too happy to lean on it. "I don't care who you think I am. I don't care what similarities you think we have. I am not like you. And I won't be a part of this."

Lachance's voice descended as he leaned toward her, "Sharah, this will pass. You will adjust. When you begin your training, you will learn to distance yourself from these people, and harden yourself to their very existence."

Sharah was nearly shouting she was so worked up, "I don't want to harden myself! I don't want to stop caring about _people_! I…" No, she couldn't be like him. She couldn't be so cold. What was she even doing here? What had made her think she could live with herself if she became a murderer? People mattered to her. It was a deep part of her that Sharah did not want to lose for any reason. Even to belong.

"I can't do this," she said. She took rapid steps across to where she'd set her pack which was, thankfully, still mostly packed. She'd go back to her place in the Fighters Guild. Beg the Nine to forgive what she'd done. Try to forget this nightmare.

"What are you doing?" he asked from beyond the edge of her sight.

"I'm leaving," Sharah informed him, jamming what few things she'd removed and yanking the bag over her shoulder without even strapping it closed. She wanted the hell out of here as fast as possible.

Sharah turned to find Lucien Lachance directly in her path. "No, you are not."

She glared at him, letting her anger fill her so she would not fall for his entrapment again. "Yes, I am. I will never let myself be like you. Not for anything."

Sharah stalked past him, but Lucien's hand snapped out and closed iron tight around her arm. "You are not leaving here."

"Yes, I am."

Sharah tried to yank herself free, but he held her fast. Sharah's lip curled off her teeth. She let the pack fall and swung her fist at his face. The assassin dodged and caught her wrist as it passed him by, then twisted it painfully. Sharah winced and tried to knee him, but he shifted his hips away from her strike and bent her arm around and up behind her back, forcing her against him and robbing her of any room to maneuver. When she tried to jerk away again, he put her other arm back behind her head and pulled both her wrists together between her shoulder blades from their opposite directions until Sharah thought he might pop her arms out of joint. But he stopped just short, driving his elbow into her lower back firmly enough to hold and trap her against him.

Sharah struggled in spurts, trying to find an escape. But he mastered each motion. It had been far too long since she'd trained in hand to hand, and Lachance was a master. Sharah let the rage boil as she glared up at him. But he was resolute and, while he could not trap her with his eyes this time, he went unaffected by her anger. She yanked at his hold again, and then set her feet to try and throw him, even at the risk of one of her arms being dislocated.

The assassin adjusted in response. The moment she changed her stance, he twining their lower legs, putting a foot around the back of her right ankle and planted it against the outside of her foot. The message didn't need saying. If she tried to upset him, he was going to let her. But they were going to fall together. Once on the ground, Sharah didn't doubt he'd be able to pin her. And with his superior weight and reach and skill, there would be no way for her to get away. She'd be trapped for certain until he chose to let her go.

She forced herself to stop moving and try to calm down. She had to think if she was going to get out of this. Damnit! She could use that numbing shroud right now. But it wouldn't come, even when she tried to call it up. Since it wouldn't, she made an attempt at imitating it. Sharah stopped struggling against her human prison and made herself still, focusing. She let her mind go blank and tried to get a sense of everything at one time, just like what happened when that mental shroud was upon her, letting it all come to her at once. She felt exactly where and how he was holding her limbs, how far they were strained and precisely where in her back his elbow was pinning her.

Lucien Lachance seemed to be waiting. He did nothing but hold himself still, and her with him, waiting for her to make the next move. But she didn't move. She did shift her weight just a little to get a better sense of the proportions of his body, where his joints and vulnerable areas were relative to her, which ones she could reach. Even testing exactly how firmly he was holding her in place, hoping it provided at least a partial judge of his strength.

As Sharah took it all in, she couldn't help but notice other things. Being in full contact from legs to chest, she got an ample feel of him. Not just the size of his body but the firmness of it, too. And this close, she could clearly see all those features that made him so handsome. Sharah gritted her teeth and let the frustration burn. She hated that he was so good looking. Hated that he was utterly unwavering as he looked patiently down at her. And that she could tell his eyes weren't black, but such a deep shade of brown that they seemed black. Even that she could tell how he smelled from this close.

And as all these qualities converged in her mind, Sharah felt something tug on the edge of her recognition. He seemed…familiar to her.

Sharah's glare became searching, "Who are you?"

His mouth turned up a bit. "I believe I have already informed you of who I am."

She shook her head slightly, resisting a wince when her arms pulled, "No. I know you from before this. Where? Where do I know you from?" She would have remembered meeting him. Sharah was sure of it.

Lucien didn't move in the least, but one of his eyebrows rose as he looked down at her. Sharah was about to ask again when he spoke. "I'm not surprised you do not remember, given the state you were in."

"What state?" she demanded. "Who are you?"

Lucien Lachance's smile grew, "Shall I remind you?" She glared at his cockiness. But before she could answer, his head darted forward and he kissed her.

Sharah struggled anew, but his hold was strong and complete. She couldn't get away, or even back from him. And when she tried to protest, Lucien thrust his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her voice. She squirmed to no avail, trying to escape the violation.

Except, like this…the familiarity was stronger. Not just the way he felt against her or his scent in her nose, but the way he tasted. But that couldn't be right. She'd never let anyone do this to her. The only time she'd ever even been kissed had been Heart's Day last year. And no one had gone this far. Only in her dreams has she ever been…

Sharah's struggles ceased and she froze in shock as he explored her mouth. From the long cast away memories, the qualities that had lived in her dreamscapes began merging with the reality she found herself in. He felt the change and lifted his mouth from hers.

Sharah stared up at him, looking at his face as though for the first time. "…I know you."

Lucien smiled, "Yes. You do." And he brought his lips back to hers.

She didn't fight him this time. She was still reeling from the recognition and trying to reorder that night and now all of this. It had been a dream. She'd dreamed of an impassioned kiss on Heart's Day. But it had been real. And it had been this man. This assassin. But why? Why had he done it? Why had he stopped before? And why this now? He kissed her with the same passion as before. But then why all this time between Heart's Day and when he'd found her again? Why had he waited? Had he even known it was her in that ruin? By the way he was on her now, she was certain he had. And she most certainly knew him. The morning after Heart's Day, Sharah had established the division between reality and fantasy. Now that division was quickly adjusting.

When he next drew back, she stumbled a little on her words, "I…I thought I just dreamed you."

He chuckled. A sound that went straight from his chest to hers and spread sensations all the way out to her fingertips and toes. Lucien brushed a finger along her jawline. She hadn't even realized he'd released her. "Then that makes me the man of your dreams, doesn't it?"

He came to her again, but softly this time, taking his time. He dwelt on her mouth, sucking gently at her lips, first upper, then lower. Then licking over them, tracing them with his tongue, teasing them.

Sharah remembered. She remembered the sensations of being with him. Not just what he'd done but what those actions had then done to her. The heat and the want. And the safety. She remembered feeling utterly safe with him…like now. Like on the ride with him. Like here in the cabin. And it had been such an understated feeling that it had gone unnoticed. They hadn't met a soul on the road, bandit or otherwise. And she'd felt protected here, even wandered the vicinity of the cabin without real concern of monsters or wild animals. From the moment after she'd killed Rufio, Sharah had willingly trusted herself to him completely, less nervous of the man than she'd been of her future in the Brotherhood. He…had made her feel safe in such a subtle way that Sharah hadn't even noticed it until now.

So when his tongue applied pressure to the crease of her lips, she opened and let him in. He entered her with permission this time, delving in until there was no interior place he hadn't reached. Then he changed the kiss, retreating and advancing, urging her to come after him. An action that intensified the heat in her chest and at the junction between her legs. Sharah followed him, twining their tongue in the dance between them, feeling him suck her velvet muscle into his mouth before releasing and returning to her.

When they next broke away, Sharah came out of it gasping for breath. He chuckled again, sending another wave through her with the sound. "You don't do this often, do you?" he teased.

Sharah shook her head hesitantly, "Not since…that night."

Lucien's expression changed to that of pure male satisfaction, and his voice became so low that his words were distorted, "Good. That is very good." He stroked her face, memorizing by touch. "I did kill the man. But I did it with the intension that, should anything happen between us, it would happen in a place of safety and privacy. You fear that I kill without cause. I do not. His continued life of suffering in this place was simply worth less to me than the time I might spend here with you. And that is not a frivolous reason for a death. Do you believe it?" Sharah's head dropped and lifted sloppily, her mind still jumbled from…everything. Lucien brushed his thumb across her lips, "Do you accept it?" Sharah nodded more firmly now that she'd tried it once.

Her anger was absolutely gone by now. Which meant his eyes once again had her hypnotized. And although he'd released her arms from entrapment, that didn't mean he wasn't still holding the two of them very close together. He dipped his head down towards her again, "Now, let's try this again. And breathe through your nose this time, beloved. It will last longer." Sharah only had an instant to wonder at what he'd called her before he swept her thoughts away.

The kiss went on. When her head began to get light, she summoned the barest amount of thought to a deep inhale through her nose without breaking them apart. The rest was easy. She was dimly aware of her hands rising to his shoulders, gripping him, pulling him closer. He smiled against her mouth and rolled his shoulders down toward her, increasing their contact. At one point he was pressed so close she was actually forced to take a step backward. He followed her, walking them both back until she came in contact with the wall. He pinned her against it with his body, the pressure absolutely lighting her up on the inside. Sharah barely knew what she was doing as her arms went further up and partly around his neck while Lucien's hands skated over the leather armor she wore, caressing her. More sparks added to what was burning inside her. What had happened? She'd wanted to leave. She'd been fully intent on leaving and now…she could only think of what he was doing to her, the pressure of his chest pushing her against the wall, the unfamiliar heat under her skin.

Lucien arrested his lips from her but they didn't leave. He kissed back across her jaw and down her neck. Sharah lifted her chin away to give him better access. And he kissed his way down, then she felt a soft, moist stroke. His tongue moving up her throat. He kept going, licking, even nipping at all the skin he could reach.

"Now will you stay," he whispered against her flesh, "Will you stay here with me?" Sharah's head rattled up and down in the torrent being kindled between them. "Will you accept your place in the Brotherhood?" She wasn't so sure her head could even sustain a proper nod anymore, but she managed to make some sound of affirmation. Although that sound could also have been in response to what he was doing to her.

Lucien placed his mouth upon the column of her neck and sucked at her skin until it stung. Sharah moaned. Then he paused. His lips didn't lose contact with her neck, but his attentions ceased. Sharah whimpered. _'Don't stop. I said 'yes'. You've won. I'll stay. But please, _please_ don't stop!'_ She opened her mouth, but her throat refused to form the words. She would have cried at the cruelty.

Then he breathed deep against her, sighing and nuzzling at where he'd marked her. And when he spoke, it was a whisper that she could barely catch, "Will you share your bed with me tonight?"

Sharah's legs quivered, her heart pounded and there was such a rushing in her ears that she could barely hear her own gasping breath. She knew what he meant. Even though she was a virgin in all respects, she knew what he was asking. Sharah also knew that he was safety. He was protection. And now, he was what she needed. Wanted. Oh, Gods, she wanted him. With anyone else she would have fought herself back under control and pushed him away. But this man was different. Lucien Lachance was unlike anyone she had ever met and she was safe with him. So Sharah swallowed with difficulty and nodded.

XXX

He didn't know what made him ask that last question of her. No…no, he did. It was both the thing pounding in his chest and the one throbbing beneath his belt. And her answer stopped the former and made the latter jerk. It took everything he had not to strip them both naked that instant to get inside her. But he dragged himself back under control. Because, by _Sithis_, he was going to do this right. Sharah was too important just to be taken and rutted. She deserved more from him. Much more.

Lucien stood up and drew back just far enough to look at her. Her face was lightly flushed and her lips parted to draw breath. When he pulled away her eyes flipped open. The firelight danced in them, illuminating the erotic anticipation and an uncertainty. Perhaps nervous of him. Lucien lifted his hand and brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She didn't need to be concerned. He was going to do right by her.

He kissed her again, slowly and thoroughly, while he moved his hands down to grasp her hips. Holding them firm, Lucien rocked against her, rubbing his erection into her belly in a mimicry of the sex act. Even through his robe and her cuirass, by the way she moved her hips, absorbing his thrusts, Sharah could feel it. But both layers would have to go. Hers first. Lucien slid his hands up her sides, lifting her arms above her head. He detached her gauntlets by feel alone and let them drop to the floor. Next to come off was the armor. Without breaking the kiss he found the first buckle. And the second. Then Sharah stiffened and her hand leapt to the third, stopping his progress.

Lucien drew back, "Having second thoughts?" He would stop if she asked. Lucien would not force her, no matter what he wanted or how badly.

Sharah breathed hard, clutching the third buckle protectively and not meeting his eyes. "No, I…It's just that I've…never done this…before…"

Lucien exhaled in a rush as a tremor ran through him. He'd expected this, given her lack of experience with the kissing. But to actually hear her say it aloud was something else. He bent down and kissed the hand gripping her cuirass, then looked her in the eye and said gently, "That's fine. I'm glad." An understatement, to say the least. With most women, he didn't care at all if he was their first or fiftieth. But with Sharah, the fact that he would be her first was not just exciting but critical.

He wrapped his hand around her fist and massaged his thumb in small circles on the back of her hand, coaxing her to let go. "Let me do this for you," he urged. "We'll take it slow, I promise." Gradually he felt her grip loosen. At last she released the buckle. He immediately took her hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the back, then another to her mouth. Assurance that this was not just about his need.

The buckles came apart steadily. Lucien slipped his hands beneath the layer and slid it off her shoulders and down her arms to hit the floor. He'd get to the greaves in time. But now Lucien needed to touch her. He found the seam of her clothing and tugged her shirt loose to slip his hand beneath. Up the smooth skin of her waist under the clothing, keeping contact all the way up, both to feel her every inch and so that he wouldn't startle her when he… Lucien's fingers found her breast band and immediately pushed it up and out of the way, letting her breast fall into his hand.

The assassin felt her breath halt at the contact, and he himself let out a flow from his lungs. The armor and the tight material of her chest restraint hid Sharah's ample bosom. She probably disliked the motion when she fought, but he appreciated the weight in his palm. Lucien massaged the soft flesh and then flicked a finger across her nipple. Sharah jerked in surprise. It was already pert and stiff. How perfect. As he molded her breast in his palm, he took the nub between his fingers and rolled it gently. Sharah's breath caught again, so he repeated. Lucien's other hand found its way beneath and to the other side, duplicating the motion on her other swell. It wasn't long before the touching became inadequate. An upward sweep and her shirt and breast band were drawn over her head and discarded. If he had his way, she would never wear that restraint again. It was unfair to conceal things of such beauty.

When he'd bared her, Sharah moved her arms on reflex to shield herself. Lucien caught her wrists and pulled them away, "No. Don't cover them."

They were as perfect by sight as they had been by feel. Creamy swells that rose and fell with every breath she took, with their rose colored buds gathered up on themselves and pointing out, begging to be touched. Lucien couldn't stop himself. He bent and caught one of them in his mouth, drawing it in and suckling at her. Sharah surged against him. Lucien pulled greedily, then moved to the other, replacing his mouth on the former with his other hand. He circled his tongue around one bud while thumbing the other. Firm and soft, and just for him.

Sharah breathed harder, leaning her head back against the wall with her eyes closed. He increased his pace, wondering how long it would take to draw a sound from her. She whimpered as he tugged and sucked. But that wasn't enough. He wanted a sound from her. He needed it. So he bit the bud at his mouth and tongued the tip ferociously. Sharah cried out. Oh, that did it for him. Lucien let go and scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the bed where he laid her out atop the blanket.

The assassin forced himself to step away and walked around the cabin, snuffing out the candles and lamps until the fire in the hearth was the only light in the room. He used the time to get a grip on himself lest his need drive him to be harsh with her. When the room was darker, he returning to where she lay. Sharah was still where and how he'd placed her, except that her arm had drifted up across her chest again. Lucien fixed his eyes there pointedly. "Don't cover them," he ordered.

She hesitated. Then slowly let the arm fall, showing him what he wanted to see. Lucien quickly untied and shrugged off his robe, which was followed by his boots. He placed on knee on the bed to support his weight whilst he removed her boots and greaves and scattered them somewhere behind him. Before anything more, he looked up to check on her. Sharah had her hands fisted in the blanket and she was tense, the anxiety showing on her face. She was getting skittish. Not an uncommon thing for a first time.

Lucien lowered himself down onto the mattress, making an effort to avoid looming over her, and stroked her waist softly just above her pants. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked. No pressure. No rush.

He saw her throat work as she swallowed. "No."

It came out too diminutive for him to just rush forward. The fingers on her skin continued their slow brush, tracing patterns over her stomach and around her navel. Her shape was pleasing to him. Toned, but not overly thin. And the skin was smooth and unbroken here. Lucien waited until the tension in her shoulders had bled out before he slipped a finger beneath the waistband and ran it teasingly from front to back to front again. His hand was almost shaking from how hard he was holding himself back. But the moment he felt her shift with his movements was the moment he rose up and pealed the garment from her. When Sharah's ankles came free, her knees came together. Still nervous. So there was no reaching for her panties yet.

Lucien reared up and removed his shirt though, and lay down beside her on the bed where he would be able to reach the most of her. The slow touching returned, ranging from her shoulder all the way down her torso to her upper thighs, avoiding the secrets that remained covered. The longer he did it, the easier it was to resist the raw sexual drive to mount her. His want didn't go away, but it did change. Became less hot and heavy, and more warm and weighted. This was no longer just sex but…love making.

He might have laughed if he hadn't been so enthralled with the feel of it. He'd read love poems and heard romantic ballads sung. Even learned a few of them for the sake of his work: seducing women to get at his marks, if they hadn't been the marks themselves. The manipulation came naturally to him. And often he'd thought the authors of those works to be idiots, waxing on with pretty words just to woo maidens into bed with them for a night. Not so different from his own uses, even if theirs involved less bloodshed. Now Lucien understood. The slow pleasure of being near to someone of special importance. Reverent of the gift of her body. The desire to worship that gift so that she knew exactly what she was to him. Not just pretty words. Not this time.

"How are you feeling?" Lucien asked, circling the pad of his finger over the pebbled surface around her nipple.

Sharah's breathing was even and her eyes were closed, just feeling what he was doing to her. Which was just fine. "It feels…nice."

"Good," he purred as he moved partly on top of her to put his lips on her. Her neck, her collar bone, down to flick his tongue across her nipple and then suckle. Lying like this, Lucien could feel her every breath as her lungs expanded against his weight.

While he worked, Sharah ventured, "I…I should be touching you…shouldn't I?"

He lifted his head slightly, "If you would like to."

Sharah lifted one hand to his shoulder tentatively, like she wasn't exactly sure where to put it. Lucien continued to pay homage to her breast, sparing her no unnecessary obligation to do anything in particular as she began to explore. Her fingers moved arbitrarily at first, but gained confidence. He felt a tickle between his shoulder blades as she flitted at the tail end of his hair. Then a tugging as she combed her fingers through it more firmly. She reached for what was on his head next, fingers running along his scalp, sending shivers down his spine as he continued to touch and kiss her. So she liked the stuff. Perhaps he'd grow it out a bit longer for her.

But her strokes were short and Lucien finally reached up to tear off the tie completely, giving her full access. He liked her hands on him. When she moved for his shoulders again, Lucien bent to her touch, encouraging her to do it more. Rather like a cat asking to be stroked. Complete with a purr of approval when she ran her hands as far as she could reach down his back.

They were making good progress so Lucien let his hand fall down to her last covering. Her breath hitched as he stroked the surface of her panties, then cupped her sex firmly and ground the heel of his hand where it would feel best. Sharah dug her fingers into his back and they both moaned. She was already so wet, the damp spot of her undergarments clinging to his fingertips as Lucien brushed them over her. He kept up the pressure until she started to squirm.

"Let me take these off," he growled.

Sharah nodded emphatically and her fingers raked over him as Lucien leaned away to yank the cloth completely off her and toss it away. He had to put a choke collar on his hand as the smell of her arousal hit him in the face like a physical blow. Slowly. Slowly. Lowering back against her, his hand went down slowly. From her navel, over her abdomen, through the coarse curls and very lightly across the crease of her sex, all the way to the source of her heat. Sharah was quivering and her back strained as he moved. He didn't keep either of them waiting long and pushed a finger into her nether lips and her secrets.

Sharah flexed and gasped, Lucien groaned and his cock jerked. Sweet Sithis! She was so hot and wet and soft…and all his. The feel was too delicious, so he added another finger. Lucien dragged them forward across her sweetest flesh, coating his fingers in her silk, feeling her arc further into him with every fold he brushed across. He dragged his fingers through her sex until at last he reached her clit.

Then Sharah jerked and scrambled away. Lucien pursued her to the headboard, never loosing contact with her heat. "Easy, easy," he crooned, his tone guttural.

She blustered, "What—what is that?"

The man paused. "You mean…this?" He stroked over her bud again.

One of her knees came up as she arced involuntarily, "Yes…that. What is that?"

Lucien could scarcely believe it. "Sharah, have you never explored yourself?"

Her cheeks deepened in color, "No—I mean, I have. But…it never felt like that."

His cock jerked again. She'd never felt like this. Which meant she'd never even cum before. And that…was such a turn on for him. Lucien leaned forward and took her mouth in a kiss overwritten with possession. It had never mattered before whether he was the first or the fifteenth. But it did now. He was going to be her first ever. Her first lover. Her first release. Her first. Her last. Her only. She would _never_ have another. She would never _want_ another. Lucien was going to make sure of that tonight.

Stroking lazily through her sex, careful of that sensitive bud, every sweep making him throb, Lucien reassured her, "It will this time. And better." Sharah's eye lids drooped as he continued. "Lay back down with me. Let me show you what you have."

Together, they worked their way back down onto the bed. Lucien removed his hand from her and took her wrist. Bringing it to his mouth, he drew her fingers in, sucking and twinning his tongue around them while Sharah watched, mouth open to breath. Lucien pulled her fingers free with a pop and guided them between her legs and into her sex. He stroked Sharah with her own fingers, circling around and over her clit, charting each swollen petal, tracing her entrance, teaching her about herself. Sharah went completely limp for him, little whimpers escaping as he pleasured her.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

It took a moment for her to answer through the gasps, "Good. But…better when you do it."

Lucien smiled, "Like this?" He slipped around her hand to press into her sensitive bud.

Sharah cried out, "Yes—like that!"

He grinned wickedly and went to work, using her fingers and his until they were both coated with her need for him and Sharah was squirming. Her hips moved, rising and descending in time with his strokes. Lucien had to take her breast in his mouth before long, just to taste a part of her. And in the midst of their pleasure, his own hips began rocking. Lucien managed to keep his length from contact with her, thrusting it into the mattress instead. Sharah didn't need to worry about that this first time.

He felt Sharah started to take some initiative, finding the places on herself that made her pant. But not before Lucien had found them first. And her other hand crawled onto his back again so that she was clinging to him during the entire thing. Her lover felt her reach further, pressing at the soft pucker of her entrance curiously. Before she could do more, Lucien arrested her hand and removed it.

"Not there," he told her. Sharah whined at the denial, at least until his tongue flicked out and he started sucking her fingers clean, taking her taste into himself. He growled against her hand, "That is for me."

He loved that look on her face: eyes hazy with lust, eyelids barely holding at half-mast, skin flushed and lips open from which breathy sounds could escape. The urge to penetrate her in some way took him to her mouth before Lucien's hand had even begun to move back down to her softness. The way Sharah kissed him was as good as a verbal plea as he made his way to her center. At her entrance, Lucien rubbed and pressed…then he was inside her, stroking along her walls and being held inside. Lucien swallowed her moan at the invasion. By Sithis, she was tight! His first finger was joined by a second and he stretched her further, feeling her pulse and flex around him. And when he came in contact with her maiden-head, he could have cum right then.

Lucien broke away from her mouth and burrowed into her neck. He needed to finish her right. Here he was about to get tossed when this time needed to be about her. Utilizing that assassin training, Lucien fought back his lust and began to touch her deliberately, alternating strokes through her and penetrations inside, rubbing and probing, always careful of her virgin barrier. Sharah writhed against him, skin on skin, the heat of her body burning into his torso as he drove her higher and held her out, only to push her further still. Lucien twined his leg with hers, both to hold her in place and to open her further. His free hand crept under her back and around to fondle her far breast and hold her firmly close.

He could feel her getting close. Sharah's head began to thrash back and forth, "L-Lucien, I can't…! I need…something…"

"I know," Lucien breathed against her neck, barely holding himself together. "Let it happen. Cum for me, beloved. Please. I _need_ to feel you cum!" He thrust his fingers into her as fast and hard as he dared, thumb on her bud, cock at her hip, balls already squeezing a warning of his own coming orgasm.

They fell over the edge together. As Sharah viced around his digits, Lucien's orgasm rode up his cock like lightening. Of their own accord his hips surged against her as close as they could get. Sharah threw her head back and arced off the mattress, fingers of one hand digging into his back, those of the other gripping his forearm at her belly hard enough to bend the bones. And her mouth open wide, silent at her height, a soundless scream as though making a sound too high to hear. Oh Sithis, yes! Lucien rode her all the way through the pulses, drawing out the release to the utmost until her weight finally collapsed back to Mundus, utterly spent.

They lay like that for a little while, Lucien loath to remove his fingers from where they were still lodged within her. Sharah's gasps came out as whimpers and she was still radiating heat. She had been absolutely beautiful and was now was positively glowing under him. The fluid in Lucien's trousers soaked into the fabric and weighed against his skin, reminding him not only of what he'd done…but that he was still hard. Like his body knew they hadn't gone all the way and was still ready to do so.

Lucien slowly drew his fingers free and couldn't resist bringing them to his mouth, savoring Sharah's delicate taste again. He would go down on her someday, but not now. She might not be able to handle that just yet. The hand at her breast began the slow massage and touch they'd started with. The other soon joined, skating over her stomach and hips while he began kissing her throat, getting her ready again. Lucien waited until he felt Sharah's heartbeat increase. Then he reached down to undo his belt.

XXX

That had been…amazing. Sharah had had no idea she could feel like that. She'd tried a little herself some years ago. But nothing had really come of it so she'd lost interest. But now, the way Lucien had touched her had sent waves of heat deep into some internal place, coiling what was there tighter and tighter. Her body had taken control of itself, like it already knew what to do, leaving Sharah's mind to be swept away by everything. She'd been a little frightened by it all, afraid she might shatter, mind and body under the mounting strain he was inflicting. And then she had, but in a good way. In the most amazingly wonderful way that had gone on forever and left her floating in her own skin.

And now it was happening again. Through the warm aftermath, she could feel those lightening sensations piercing through, her inner coil beginning to tighten again. Sharah still didn't know exactly what she was supposed to be doing. Not that Sharah could tell if he minded. Everything Lucien did and said made her feel like he was almost feeding off her reactions alone.

Sharah felt him shift and heard the light plink of metal and leather. She opened her eyes and looked down, past the loose tousle of his hair to where Lucien was removing his belt. And beneath that Sharah could make out the silhouette of a large proud length that strained against the fabric of his pants. Abruptly, a cold wave went through her, making her shiver.

Right. This…this was next.

She swallowed and forced her attention away and found the ceiling. Mechanically speaking, she knew what was going to happen. And she'd agreed to do this with him, after all. To go to bed with him, so to speak. That didn't mean just sleeping. Where had she thought this was going?

Sharah heard his belt come free. When it fit the floor, the sound seemed also to be the dropping of a weight into her stomach. She looked down again. Lucien's hand was moving to her thigh instead of to undo his trousers. Sharah was ashamed to be grateful for that. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd actually seen a man's sex. And every time had left her deathly embarrassed. And the…members had never been up like that.

And it seemed…big to her. Even though she had no point of reference. And it was going to go inside of her. Questions of size sprung up unbidden. Would it fit? His fingers had felt invasive and that down there was many times their size: as thick as her wrist and longer than her entire hand. Was he average sized? Larger? Would it hurt? Sharah knew the first time would hurt, but she didn't know how much. She'd heard some women say it was a little sharpness, others say it was horrible. Which would it be for her? Would the pain ruin it? What about general pain? Would it hurt just to have him inside her?

Sharah latched her eyes on the ceiling and closed them tight, trying to focus on Lucien's touches rather than what was going through her head. It was difficult. She was just hoping he wouldn't notice.

The mattress dipped more in one place as he leaned upward. "Sharah, are you alright?" he murmured.

She kept her eyes shut and nodded stubbornly, but didn't trust herself to speak. She shouldn't be nervous. People had been having sex like this for thousands of years. It was perfectly natural. Every person that had ever been born had been the result of sex. Well that thought stopped her dead. What if Sharah got pregnant from this? How great a chance was there of that? Did it happen every time? Most of the time? Seldom? How did you tell?

Sharah started to shiver. Her mother had talked about cycles to her at one point. And she knew about charms that protected against getting with child. But she'd never paid much attention. Always assumed she'd be married and settled down before this happened. Now Sharah wished she'd paid more attention to all that.

"Sharah?"

She wasn't ready for a child. Not at all. And certainly not with this man. She barely knew him. Not even that. She didn't know him at all. Whatever she felt around him, whatever he drew out of her, Lucien was a stranger to her. Sharah had no idea what his intentions were. What would happen after they'd…been together. If there would even be that kind of 'after' for them.

The mounting fear completely drowned out the brush against her cheek. "Sharah?"

_Calm down. Divines and Daedra, calm down!_ She was being unreasonable. Lucien had made her feel incredible. Handled her so carefully. Certainly he would do so again. She had to get a hold of herself. Even if she didn't know if she was ready for this.

Lucien's warm body vanished and she felt him get off the bed to disrobe completely. This was happening now. She just had to bear through it. Even if she didn't feel ready. The first time would be the hardest one, right? She just had to be calm. Just had to get through to the end of it. Even if she didn't feel ready…didn't feel ready…didn't feel ready…didn't—

When the blanket was cast over her nakedness, Sharah bolted upright and snatched it close. Her cheeks immediately burned with shame, but she still held it against her. Lucien hadn't removed his trousers as she'd thought. In fact, he'd put on his discarded shirt and was now reaching for his boots. He was…stopping? Sharah sat dumb as he clothed himself, concealing his probably still present erection beneath his robe while she couldn't think of anything to say.

The Speaker beat her to it, "We need go no further tonight." He tied his hair back and turned to her, every inch the immaculate assassin he'd been before. "Rest yourself. We will go to the Sanctuary tomorrow." Then he walked across the cabin to the door, exiting and closing it behind him, leaving Sharah to herself.

Alone in the cabin, Sharah curled her legs up slowly to her chest and fisted her covering tight, shivering. How had she gone from hot need to cold fear so fast? Maybe there was something wrong with her. Sharah had been ready to melt under his hand and now she was just…alone and cold. She'd ruined it. Just fallen apart. Sharah reached up to rub her forehead vigorously and found her cheeks wet. When had she started crying? Had he seen?

Sharah buried her head in her arms. There had to be something wrong with her. She'd like what he'd done to her. Really, really liked it. But when the moment of truth approached, she'd frozen up. She was pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. The whole experience had left her feeling vulnerable. Enough so that, while being naked but for the blanket would doubtless be a rude awakening, Sharah didn't have the will to leave the bed and retrieve her clothes. Instead she just pulled the blanket further over herself and lay down, curling up into the mattress. Maybe she'd go to sleep and just disappear.

XXX

It took two more ejaculations outside in the dark for Lucien to actually convince his cock of what he'd told Sharah: that there would be nothing more tonight. And he knew she would need a bit of breathing room after what had happened, so he waited until she was certain to be asleep before going back into the cabin. Denying himself the pleasure of her had been borderline agony. But it was the lesser evil compared to frightening Sharah permanently. He would never force himself on her. Never. He'd been able to tell the instant she'd gotten unnerved. And when Lucien failed to work her through it, he had stopped. He would always stop.

Sharah was curled up on the bed in the fetal position, covered to her shoulders and sound asleep. Her hands were even fisted and tucked tightly under her chin, which Lucien found adorable. He raised an eyebrow at himself. When had he last used that word? Had he ever?

Her clothes were still where he'd tossed them. Lucien tried not to think about how she was naked beneath the blanket, and gathered them up and ordered them. Once her things were set to rights, Lucien paused at the bedside. He should sleep in one of the chairs. It would be wrong to do otherwise. And yet…

Lucien removed his boots again and carefully lay down next to her on top of the blanket and with a comfortable distance between them, but close to her. He'd leave before she woke up. Sharah never needed to know about this. It was all too likely that she'd have trouble enough just feeling comfortable around him again. Intimacy either brought people much closer or forced them further apart. Considering how this had ended, it would likely be the former for the two of them. He just needed to be near her a bit longer.

The Speaker distracted himself by watching her breath. It was mesmerizing, really. The rise and fall of the blanket at her chest, the tiny movements at her nose. The peaceful look on her face passed into him and his own breathing slowed as he watched her sleep.

'Beloved'. He'd called her 'beloved'. Repeatedly. And not by intent. It had just slipped out. Again and again.

How had this happened? Lucien asked it more as a curiosity than wishing for a reversal. He'd distanced himself intentionally from everyone. A defense mechanism resulting from how his mother and sisters had reacted to him killing his father. Lucien had finally done something about that abusive bastard and they'd cast him out for it. So he'd traded one family for another when Vicente Valtieri had found him soon after that and brought him into the Dark Brotherhood at the ripe old age of eight.

But from the moment of his recruitment, throughout his training and into his place on the Black Hand, there had been no deep attachment whatsoever. He was utterly loyal to the Brotherhood, the Dread Father and their Matron. But there was nothing else that couldn't be severed in a heartbeat and abandoned. And now he couldn't imagine doing without this woman in his life. Her strength of spirit when she'd faced him down. The beautiful way she took life and spilled blood. How she'd trusted herself to him, however briefly. It all wove into his being, binding him to her irreversibly. How had it happened?

Perhaps it shouldn't surprise him. Sithis was chaos, discord, the embodiment of change. It suited His sphere to turn Lucien's carefully laid plans on their head. Lucien reached out to stroke her cheek on an impulse. Sharah stirred at the contact. He froze and stayed perfectly still as she wiggled across the bed and until she settled down again, still asleep but very nearly against him. Lucien smiled and brought their foreheads slowly together, closing his eyes.

"My beloved."

He dozed off before long. In the night, dual slumbering motions would bring them closer. Sharah would kick the blankets off her feet and their legs would tangle. Lucien would cast his hand over her side and tuck her against his chest where Sharah would wind fingers into his robe. But he would wake and be gone before she opened her eyes.

**Wolf of Cyrodiil is now officially M rated. A full chapter of smut, albeit the romance novel flavor. I was going to add some mention of how this is not the usual hardcore Lucien sex smut, and how Sharah is not the only virgin to get freaked out her first time. Instead I'll say: this is my story! I'll do what I want with it! And the rest of you can just suffer the results! Muahahahaha!**

**Please review before you go. And I'll try to keep typing while still playing Skyrim. I am totally up for OC's for that, by the way.**


	41. Welcome Home

**Haha! Another chapter. That was tough to get out. Kind of hard to follow a smut chapter and get back into normal writing. That and real life can be such a drag. And Skyrim can be so awesome. Gah! So much stuff happening. Thanks for all the reviews and views and stuff. I notice that there are a lot of double views on my last chapter. You naughty smutters you. And without _reviewing_! For shame. **

**Anyway, thanks for holding out for me. And here's another chapter.**

Sharah's first waking moments came with a rapid set of realizations. It began with a drowsy contentment that followed a good night's sleep. Then confusion with the opening of her eyes. This place was not familiar. The shock at realizing she was naked threw panic over everything and pumped lamp oil into her veins. Sharah jerked up and yanked the blanket frantically against her chest to search out the room and anyone in it. Profound relief to see she was alone. Then a rapid flushing to her face upon remembering the night before, the flush of heat and the flush of shame so close together she couldn't tell them apart.

Sharah looked hurriedly around the cabin again, not sure if she did or did not want to see Lucien Lachance tucked away in a shadowed pocket. But he was nowhere to be seen. What she did see were her clothes and armor neatly folded on the dresser and breakfast waiting on the table. She blinked and looked between those two again. She hadn't expected that. Then again, she didn't know what she'd expected.

So…Lucien Lachance wasn't here. But he had been. Although it was a little unsettling to think of him being in the same room as she was while she was naked and asleep. It shouldn't, though. Right? He had seen her naked last night. Touched her. And in places she'd never been herself. It wasn't like he wasn't intimately familiar with her now. But where was he? Was he coming back? When?

Thinking of that, Sharah bounded out of bed and to her clothes. There was water in the basin so she chanced a wash. The fastest wash she'd ever done. Lucien Lachance hadn't come in before she was fully clothed. But he couldn't have been gone long. The covered pot on the table was still warm. And the porridge inside smelled very good: spiced, with apple slices cooked into it. Could all assassins cook? Or was that just one of his…skills? Going there brought fresh heat to her face, so she shoved it away and sat down at the table.

Sharah had eaten and packed her things, and Lucien still hadn't come in. In fact, everything of his was gone. Had he left entirely? Had he…had his fun and left her on her own? Maybe decided she wasn't worthy of recruiting after all? And would that be good or bad? She cleaned up a bit, banked the fire and he still hadn't come back. And she couldn't see him or Shadowmere outside through the windows. Sharah finally decided to leave the cabin, pack and all. He was either outside somewhere or gone. And either way, there was no point in staying here.

Outside, the sun was already climbing into the sky above the horizon. And around the side of the cabin where the windows didn't reveal, Lucien Lachance was just finishing saddling Shadowmere. Like he'd known exactly when she'd come outside. How did he do that?

Sharah approached slowly with no idea how to treat the morning after…last night. "Uh…Good morning…Lucien."

He tightened the last buckle and looked skyward, "Yes. It is." Then, turning to her, "Did you sleep well?"

She nodded. "And breakfast was…Thank you."

"You are welcome. Are you ready to leave?"

She nodded again and shrugged her pack off her shoulder and passed it to him when Lucien extended a hand for it. While the assassin secured it beside his own, she worked up the courage to say, "And, uh…I want to thank you for last night. And…for stopping." Her cheeks had to be the color of ripe tomatoes and Sharah really couldn't look straight at him.

Lucien finished their preparations. Then reached out to cup her chin and lift her head up. Their eyes met, his smoldering, and Sharah forgot how to breathe again. He poured over her face. Then spoke in that deep tone that brought a warm rush to her skin and other places, "There will be other opportunities. Do not be concerned with last night. I am content with what has happened between us…for now." Sharah swallowed and the rushing concentrated at her the joining of her legs. Now she knew exactly what that meant. How could he do this to her just by speaking?

Lucien dropped his hand and slipped it around to the small of her back, guiding her toward Shadowmere. "Mount." She obeyed and he was soon there behind her. Then the mare turned and took off like a thundering avalanche, carrying them away from the cabin on the wind.

The ride was as exhilarating as the day before. But the second experience did give her some familiarity. Which meant Sharah wasn't completely carried away by the ride and could notice other things. Like the man conformed into her back. He'd held her exactly like this yesterday, hadn't he? And it was strikingly similar to how he'd held her last night. They were just as close and his touch was just the same. Did that mean something? Had he wanted her like that from the start? And was it plain lust or…something more significant? Sharah didn't have the courage to ask.

They moved together seamlessly. Again, not unlike last night in the bed, their bodies surging together and absorbing each other. Sharah wondered if this would be what sex with him would have been like. _Gods_! There _was_ something wrong with her! Last night she'd freaked out at the first opportunity and now here she was thinking seriously about it. So, instead of getting her head braided up around the conflicting concerns and wants, Sharah focused on enjoying the ride. All aspects of it.

The lightly forested foothills grew larger as they road east toward the Valus Mountains. They had to be getting near to Cheydinhal. And so, to the border of Morrowind. The province of the Dunmer had an assassin group of their own, the government sanctioned Morag Tong. Certainly the Dark Brotherhood would not dwell within their territory. And, on Shadowmere, they were rapidly running out of miles thereto. So where was this Sanctuary?

Sure enough, Cheydinhal floundered out of the forest. Shadowmere skirted the stone walls and galloped around the city toward the east gate. The mare slowed within sight of the archway and came to a stop behind a canopy on the road, prancing up little clouds of dust as though she hadn't just run over a hundred miles in a few hours.

Lucien urged Sharah to dismount, "Within the city, to the south along the east wall, is an abandoned house. Go to the Black Door in the basement. You will be asked a question, the answer to which is: 'Sanguine, my brother'. Say that and you will gain entrance to the Sanctuary. Speak with Ocheeva inside. She is the mistress there and will direct you further."

Sharah took her pack from him when it was offered. "You're not coming with me?" she asked, and immediately regretted it because of the fearful aspect of her voice.

Lucien did not waver, "No. I have kept from my duties long enough and must see to them."

She still hesitated. Being recruited was one thing. Particularly since it was by Lucien Lachance and they had had…history, let alone what had ended up happening between them. But meeting a Sanctuary full of Dark Brotherhood assassins. Alone. And after what she'd done to the one who'd come after Lady Marisia Carvain.

As if he could read her thoughts, the Speaker told her, "The family is aware of your transgression. It has been forgiven, but avoid mention of it. Do not be afraid. You are protected by the Tenets and you are a child of Sithis. They will welcome you."

Sharah wasn't so sure, but she forced a nod regardless. "Will I…we…see each other very often?"

The black-clad assassin smiled bewitchingly, "Perhaps. In the meantime you need only see to your training and do as you are told. And know that I will be following your progress. Now go. Our family is waiting."

Sharah got her feet working toward Cheydinhal's gate. Although every so often she angled her head to look backwards. And every time, he was still there in the shade of the trees, unmoving. Sharah took strength from the statuesque oversight even though this whole situation had her on her toes. One last look back from the gate and Lucien had not vanished and was still looking after her. She raised a hand in a half-hearted wave, feeling a fool for doing it, before hurrying to knock on the gate and gain entrance. Only when Sharah had vanished from sight did Shadowmere turn and bear the Speaker away into the wilderness again.

The flora of Cheydinhal was just beginning to stir from beneath winter's grip. There weren't that many people out at this time of the afternoon, so Sharah didn't meet anyone she knew. Good thing, too. Because she had no idea what she might say to a member of her Fighters Guild right now.

The abandoned house was easy to pick out. The Gods only knew how it was still standing. Sharah waited until the street was clear, then jumped the collapsed gate, hurried up the walk, picked the lock and slipped inside. The place was decrepit. Broken and moldy wood, cobwebs, dust. The Brotherhood lived here? No. Downstairs. This house was just the ruse. She hoped. And one very befitting of the Brotherhood.

The stairs down were kept solid and appeared well-trodden. That was the only indication that this place was inhabited at all. Sharah had yet to see a usable…anything, anywhere. In the basement, it was the same, except that there was a hunk of the stone wall missing and a tunnel beyond that led down. Sharah cast a flare and proceeded into the depths.

Before long, the only light was her own. And then her flare seemed to grow brighter. Except it wasn't her. There was a red glow coming from beyond the next corner. Sharah stepped around the stone and stood before the Black Door. It was made of what could have been ebony or black marble, but was neither. And the lines carved into it glowed with an eerie light that was as red as blood, as if the door was bleeding, that lit up the tunnel and the carvings themselves.

Most prominent: a skull imprinted with a hand in black that cast etched rays down upon the rest of the depiction: a woman and five children upon a barren landscape. Four were kneeling in adoration at her feet, the fifth was held to her bosom. Maybe a depiction of the Black Hand? Four Speakers and a Listener. Which would make the woman, the Night Mother. And the glowing skull was probably supposed to be Sithis. Not exactly a happy-go-lucky picture. Particularly not when cast in blood red and pitch black.

Sharah could see no knob or handle on the door. "Hello?" Her voice was gummy, so she swallowed and repeated, "Hello?" No answer. Who was supposed to ask her for the password? She looked back down the passage, wondering if this was just a trap to get her into a dark corner. No one in the dark.

Since there was no apparent way to open the door, if it was a door and not just a wall unto itself, Sharah looked at the carvings a bit more. She didn't quite have the courage to touch the Sithis skull, but the carving of the woman…Sharah knelt down to put her eyes at its level. It was just a generic carving of a female in profile, not even a race to be discerned. And yet it looked familiar to her. With nothing else to do, she reached out to touch the woman carved into the stone.

The moment her fingers touched the door, a cold sensation flooded up her arm and through the rest of her body, reaching all the way to her toes. And a thousand voices speaking from eons away sounded in Sharah's head, _"What is the color of night?"_

Sharah stumbled back and landed on her rear. Minus the contact with the door, the feeling of cold dissipated and the only sound was her own gasping in the tunnel's close quarters. She stood up and had the feeling that the door was watching her expectantly. Waiting. Right, that was the question to gain entrance, asked by the door itself. How foolish she was to expect some sort of doorman. And Lucien had given her the answer.

Sharah swallowed and stepped up again, putting her hand firmly, stubbornly even, right on the handprint on the skull and answered, "Sanguine, my brother."

She felt the door consider her. Then lean away from her fingers and opened inward to reveal the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood.

Sharah leaned around and forward without actually going in. She couldn't see anyone. Or much at all, really. Moment of truth. She wasn't going to freeze up now. She'd come too far to go back. So Sharah picked up her fallen pack and stepped over the threshold into the Sanctuary, although her hand fell to the hilt of the assassin's dagger that she had buckled to her belt. And as she passed through, the voices in the door spoke again to her, _"Welcome home."_

Divines and Daedra, this place felt almost…homey. The entrance hall was a little dark, but further in there were torches that created a warm lighting for the chamber. Tapestries hung on the walls, the Brotherhood's hand in black looking more like a proud coat of arms than an eerie warning. The stone walls held no signs of decay, the floor no dust. There were rugs spread out on the ground that looked of excellent quality and all the furniture Sharah could see was in good shape.

While Sharah was taking it all in, there was a hiss behind her followed by a dull clunk. Sharah whirled around to see the Black Door had closed and sealed shut. There was a surge of panic and it took all she had not to leap forward and try to pry it open. She spun back to look into the chamber again. No one coming to investigate. No one there at all. Or so it seemed.

Sharah locked herself in place and forced some controlled breaths into and out of her lungs. She was sealed inside a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary with the only open path being further in. She could do this. She shook herself. Of course she could do this! She was the Wolf, wasn't she? She'd dealt with Daedric Princes and come out unscathed. She'd killed well over a hundred people in her life. Maybe two hundred. She'd bested a Dark Brotherhood assassin. She'd even murdered people. She was a force to be reckoned with. She was the Wolf.

And according to Lucien Lachance, her Speaker and the Speaker of everyone here, she belonged in this place. Whoever these assassins turned out to be, however brutal or cutthroat or murderous, Sharah wasn't going to let them rattle her. She was not going to let them know how uncertain she felt. She would show them she was strong and wasn't afraid of them. Sharah's wolf sufficiently tuned up, she walked into the Sanctuary.

Her step was light, her knees partially bent and she kept her sight wide and unfocused, trying to see what was in her periphery as well as what was in front of her. This was, in fact, the exactly stance and mentality with which she explored caves and ruins and the like, keeping her eyes open for any surprises. At any moment the assassins could leap out of hiding and scare the skin off of her. Maybe even come at her with weapons. Did they even know she was coming? And would her welcome include some sort of trying like with Blackwood? And she still had no idea what to expect of these people she was supposed to be living with. The feel of the dagger in her palm was a remarkable comfort while dealing with all this.

The door to her right moved and opened. Sharah shifted to the balls of her feet on instinct and her grip on the dagger tightened. From the door stepped a young Breton woman, about Sharah's age. She had vibrant blonde hair and a round face, wearing a set of dark stained leather just like the kind Sharah had encountered on the assassin she'd bested, and carrying a dagger on her hip. Not knowing what to do, Sharah stayed silent and still until the woman noticed her, waiting for the reaction.

To Sharah's surprise, the woman let out a shriek and squealed back into the door, "Gogron! Telaendril! She's here. She's here!" Then, before Sharah could react in the least, the woman sprinted across the room and threw her arms around the newcomer in the most emphatic embrace Sharah had ever experienced. "Welcome home, dearest sister! It's so wonderful to finally meet you. We've been waiting forever!" She squeezed harder and Sharah felt herself being jarred as her assaulter began bouncing on the spot, "Lucien's told us so much I feel like I know you already. Oh, welcome home. Welcome home!"

Sharah was struck completely dumb by the display. This was a member of the Dark Brotherhood, right?

From the direction of the door, Sharah heard, "Antoinetta, would you let go of the girl. You're making a scene. And likely scaring her half to death." Looking over, Sharah saw that a graceful Wood Elf in the same dark leather and a hulking Orc in daedric armor had followed the giddy woman into the chamber.

The woman, Antoinetta, let go but did not cease jumping for joy, "But I'm just so happy. Oh, you're going to love it here! I just know it. We're going to be like sisters. Not just sisters-sisters. But real sisters. Oh! I have to get cooking. We just have to do something special to celebrate your arrival."

"Um…thank you," Sharah managed.

That set the Breton off again squealing again. "Just you wait. It'll be like nothing you've ever tasted!"

The Bosmer rolled her eyes and whispered, "It really won't."

But the Imperial was already sprinting back through the doors from which she'd come, leaving her newest…sister, rather dumbfounded. Was she in the right place?

The Bosmer came forward with much more control than the other woman, "My name is Telaendril." She waved back to the orc, "And this is Gogron gro-Bolmog. And that little whirlwind was Antoinetta Marie." The mer extended a hand, "Welcome to the Cheydinhal Sanctuary. I hope she didn't scare you too much. She is a little…excitable."

Sharah took what was offered and squeezed firmly, her wolf a little put off by the unexpected level of welcome. "No, it's just…she's not what I expected."

Telaendril replied, "Ah, you were expecting us all to be like Lucien Lachance. Silent and mysterious?"

Sharah shrugged off-hand, "Well…a little, yes."

The mer woman simpered, "I hate to ruin the illusion, but no one is like Lucien Lachance. And a word of warning, you will regret allowing Antoinetta to cook. She has a passion for it but—"

"She could ruin buttered toast," the Gogron gro-Bolmog interrupted with an orcish grin. "But lucky for you, I'll eat anything. Welcome, my sister. I'd hug you, but Ocheeva told me not to." He actually deflated like a denied child.

"A wise instruction," came a hiss from the shadows. An auburn scaled Argonian came walking out into the main room. He turned his attention to Sharah and offered his hand as well, "Welcome, sister. I am Teinaava."

Sharah reached forward to grasp his hand, "Thank you. I'm Sharah. But…I guess you knew that already. It's…very nice to be here." Divines and Daedra, he had black eyes. Pupil to iris, all pitch black. Like bottomless pits set into his face.

Like the Sanctuary, these people were not what she expected. They didn't exude danger to her or raise the hairs on her neck as they should have. Telaendril had the air of a noble lady. Gogron gro-Bolmog had an almost immature feel about him. And Teinaava's smile didn't have any more or fewer teeth than any other Argonian. Sharah felt at ease in their presence. Welcomed. And her fears from before about joining the Dark Brotherhood seemed very far away. Who would have thought that assassins were people.

Telaendril said, "We can do the rest of the introductions later. Let's get you settled. We've got a bed waiting for you already. Teinaava, perhaps you should go watch Antoinetta in the kitchen. Keep her from poisoning us all by mistake."

"Ah, yes," he replied, "And remove the garlic before she reaches it."

Gogron grinned, "Yeah. Wouldn't want that to happen again. Especially not with the new family member around."

Sharah followed the assassins back through the door that Antoinetta had vanished through. At the bottom of a flight of stairs, the men broke left through a pair of double doors from which a burning smell was emanating. Sharah followed Telaendril further down the hallway. As they went, Telaendril pointed out the storage locker and the baths. She told Sharah about the taps, enchanted to provide either hot or cold water with the turn of a handle. She described the training area on the opposite side of the main chamber and that the main chamber itself included a sitting area and a reading corner. She talked about the muffle spells soaked into the walls to ensure quiet and privacy, not only from the outside world but within the Sanctuary itself.

Sharah stayed quiet all the way to the bedchamber. "It's communal. We try to keep the family as close knit as possible. But we do have some cloth partitions so you don't have to change in the open if you don't care to. And the baths are pretty private too" The Bosmer walked over and pointed to a bed, "This one is yours. You'll have your own nightstand and trunk. There's a lock on your trunk, the key's in the nightstand right now. Normally we wouldn't bother with them because we hold to the Tenets but…Well, it's more of a precaution than anything else."

Sharah looked down at the place where she would be living. The trunk was good sized, the nightstand functional, and the bed looked comfortable. Telaendril watched as Sharah walked over and slowly sat down on the foot of the bed, placing her pack on the ground.

"Do you need a moment, sister?" Telaendril asked.

Sharah wanted to say 'no'. That she was fine and dandy, and not the least bit out of sorts. But, "Yes, I would appreciate that. Thank you."

The Bosmer nodded, "I understand. This is significant change for everyone. But I know it won't be long before you call this Sanctuary home."

She turned to leave and give Sharah her solitude. She was almost out the door when Sharah remembered, "Uh, Telaendril? I'm supposed to talk to Ocheeva."

"She'll be at dinner. Just come up whenever you're ready."

Alone in the bedchamber, Sharah sat quietly, turning her head this way and that to look the entire room over. Six beds that appeared used with a few extra empty ones. They were personalized one way or another. One had a heap of pillows shoved toward the head. Another had a substantial stack of books on and beside the nightstand. One was immaculately made, another blanket was crumpled up and….were those scratch marks on the posts? But none of it looked frightening or made her feel nervous. No bloodstains or bodies or lampshades of human skin. Just a normal looking dormitory.

Sharah pulled her knees up to her chest and rolled onto her back like a turtle. This place didn't feel frightening. Even though it probably should have. Certainly a bunch of assassins should congregate in a place that was as dangerous as they were. And when together, that aspect should be the shared quality that most presented itself. This place should exude danger and murder. But it didn't. The atmosphere of these people and this place didn't lend at all to Sharah's expectations. Instead, this place felt…homey. And these people, like they could soon be close friends. Even…family. The feeling came so easily that Sharah was a little hesitant to trust it.

Sharah heaved herself upright. Whether she chose to be wary or comfortable, she was staying. Sharah unpacked a few things and just tucked the rest of her pack in her new trunk. She did decide that she was comfortable enough to remove her armor, even if she did hold on to Umbra and her assassins dagger. Then she found the key to her trunk and locked it tight.

She wandered the room a little and then went back out into the hall. The bath chamber was pretty expansive. Porcelain tubs in the floor and basins, polished floor. Sharah tested the enchanted faucets and was astonished to be able to call up anything from scalding hot or ice cold. She decided she could get used to warm baths.

Back out in the hallway, Sharah went to peak into the storage room before heading to the kitchen and almost bumped into a Khajiit dressed in mages robes who was coming out.

He recovered first. "Well, if it isn't the newest member of the family," he said through revealed teeth.

"Um, yeah. Hi, I'm—"

His smile proved false and became a snarl as he interrupted her, "Let's get one thing straight. The Tenets prevent me from killing you. But I don't have to like you. Just stay out of my way." He shoved past her angrily and headed up the hall and past the kitchen, muttering under his breath, "Foul-smelling ape."

Sharah stayed where she was. That was definitely the least welcoming person she'd met so far in here. But everyone else had been so nice. Hopefully he would be the only one. And there was bound to be one. Thank the Nine for the Tenets, though.

Oh, wait. That wasn't exactly the right thing to say now, was it? The Nine weren't the appropriate deities to reference in a place like this. So...the right prayer would be 'Thank Sithis.' Actually, that kind of rolled off the tongue. Thank Sithis. By Sithis. Sithis take you. She could learn to throw those sorts of curses around. Not in public though. It wouldn't do to advertise what she was doing now, would it?

Sharah dawdled in the storage room to give the angry Khajiit time to get ahead of her. Then she went down the hall to the kitchen. She peaked in the door, not quite sure if she was going in yet. Gogron gro-Bolmog was in the kitchen uninvited, trying to cook around Antoinetta while keeping something held high above his head. Antoinetta was attempting to hold him off while simultaneously climbing him to get at what he was holding out of her reach. It seemed the woman did not appreciate his interfering with her cooking. But that wasn't stopping Telaendril. While the two were contending for kitchen dominance, the mer was going behind them, doing exactly what Antoinetta was trying to keep Gogron from doing: making significant edits to what was cooking. Sharah caught a couple flashing glances between the Orc and Bosmer that told her this wasn't a first time either. Teinaava, meanwhile, had his snout in a book but was watching the whole thing over the binding, eyes slanted to indicate he was probably grinning.

It looked so…normal. Like a real family. Sharah was starting to seriously doubt her vision of what being here would be like. She'd expected brooding assassins, living a hair's breath away from attacking each other. Sharah herself needing to keep her eyes open every minute of the day, as suspicious of her comrades as they were of her. But this was not that at all. This was a family. Arguing about who had to set the table and who would be washing dishes. The only danger any of them seemed worried about from one another was Antoinetta's bad cooking.

While watching the scene play out, someone pushed through the door to the top of the stairs. Sharah looked up and the leapt back, yanking Umbra out and to the ready. A skeleton with dome kind of dark plate armor, holding an ebony war axe and lumbering slowly toward her. Sharah's skin started crawling and she took a few steps back, waiting as the skeleton came down the stairs, preparing her strike for when they were on equal ground.

From the open door, an Argonian woman came through, saw the two and immediately said, "Sheath your sword. The Dark Guardian will not hurt you."

Sharah hesitated but kept the weapon out. The skeleton plodded forward, Sharah backing against the wall as it came. The thing stopped and swayed a little as it looked at her. Then it took its slow walked down the hall without another glance. Sharah stayed on edge as it passed her, Umbra's point only lowering as it went further down the hall.

The Argonian came to her, "The Dark Guardian is the Sanctuary's protector. It will not hurt members of the family."

Sharah forced the sword to drop to her side completely. "Sorry, I just…have an issue with the undead."

"You will need to get over that. The Dark Guardian is a member of the family. The Tenets protect him." She turned her attention fully to the newcomer, "I am Ocheeva, mistress of this Sanctuary. Welcome to the family, Sharah. Or do you prefer to be called Wolf?"

The human woman took the offered hand, "Sharah is fine. I was supposed to talk to you about what I do next here." Ocheeva had the same pitch black eyes as Teinaava. No, wait. On a closer look, there were slanted pupils in the center. They were just the same shade as her iris, making her eyes look completely black and bottomless.

The door beside them opened a little and Telaendril stepped out, "Did something happen? I thought I heard something."

Sharah looked down at the naked blade in her hand and hurriedly sheathed it, "I just—"

"The Dark Guardian startled her. That is all," Ocheeva said. Then to Sharah, "Tomorrow you will begin training with Vicente. He will test your talents and decide what requires improving. We'll also get you fitted for a set of Brotherhood armor. But this evening we will just get you settled in. Speaking of which," she looked at Telaendril, "How is supper coming?"

Telaendril lowered her voice, "I think it's edible. Sithis only knows where she comes up with these ideas. And why we keep letting her try them."

Ocheeva sighed, "We'd best get in there. You know how she gets when we refuse." The Argonian looked at Sharah, "Are you going to join us, sister?"

She spoke cautiously and gently, careful to present the option without attempting to force it. Sharah would never have expected this sort of treatment. They were genuinely concerned about her adjustment, giving Sharah the option to join them at her own speed. It was unexpected. And Sharah was beginning to consider giving up looking for the trap.

"No. I mean, yes. I…I'm fine. I would love to join you," she told them. She actually wanted to join them for a meal. And also not be alone out here when that skeleton came back down the way.

They walked into the dining room together. Antoinetta had successfully retrieved whatever Gogron had been holding. And, with the show over, Teinaava's attention was back on his book.

Ocheeva sniffed the air, "Garlic again, Antoinetta?"

The round faced Imperial defended herself, "When I cook I get to do what I want. It wouldn't' taste right without it." She grinned at Sharah, "Hello, Sharah!"

Ocheeva sighed and walked across the room. As she passed Teinaava, the Argonian woman snatched the book effortlessly out of his hand. The man was startled when his tome suddenly vanished. Then he was up and on his feet, hissing and snatching at it, "Give that back!"

She held it away from him in a well-practiced dance of sibling grapplery, "You've been reading all day. Show our new sister where the dishware is and set the table."

Teinaava made one last grab for his book, then grumbled in defeat, "You're so bossy." But he went over to a cabinet of plates and cups. Sharah hustled over to help him set the table to rights with what was in there.

Gogron and Antoinetta served up the meal, Ocheeva and Telaendril went for drinks. Talk and chatter abounded, and nothing out of the ordinary. Which in itself was out of the ordinary. Sharah kept waiting for them to do something assassin-ish. There was only one instance of unpleasantness.

The angry Khajiit walked in while they were still putting the meal into bowls in the kitchen. Sharah was nearest the door when he entered, and the Khajiit's ears went back and he hissed at her, "Get away from me!" Sharah backed off and he went about grabbing some portable food stuffs from the cabinets.

Antoinetta perked up. "Are you not staying for dinner, M'raaj-Dar?" she asked as the Khajiit headed back for the door.

He glared at Sharah and snarled, "I will not sit at a table with that one!" He stopped out the door, slamming it behind him.

The entire room turned quiet after his exit. Then Telaendril cleared her throat, "Don't mind M'raaj-Dar. He's angry by nature. Let's get dinner on the table."

The rest of it went fine. The angry exit didn't taint the atmosphere and no one else held the dislike against her. Although Sharah wondered if the anger was his nature or against her specifically. And why. But the rest of the meal went fine. Platters and blows were filled and brought to the table, plates and drinks were passed around. Antoinetta took one bite of her creation and got this look on her face like she had no idea how it had come out tasting like this. Most of the table started sniggering. She immediately squalled that they'd ruined it and never let her do anything.

Sharah personally didn't think it tasted that bad. She sat at the table quietly, listening and watching and taking it all in. The whole 'family' reference that they kept making wasn't just for show, and she could not get over that. It was like they had all grown up together.

"I'm telling you, that Dark Guardian is stealing my underwear. I've lost three this week," Telaendril complained.

Ocheeva didn't react, "Maybe you should put them away."

"I do put them away. But I can't watch them every minute. And all it needs is one minute to grab one. Ask Antoinetta. It's been taking hers too."

Teinaava grinned slyly, "I think you miscounted. I think the Guardian has only taken two pair this week." Telaendril looked intently at him, then the Argonian made a subtle gesture toward Gogron. Telaendril gaped then smacked the Orc's shoulder.

He bolted his head up, "What? I didn't do anything!"

Antoinetta's eyes were squinted in thought, "I don't get it. What does it do with them? Does it wear them? And why don't the guys have this problem?"

Admittedly, their humor was a little darker and their stories were more brutal.

Teinaava grinned through the whole telling, "I came at him right then. He had just enough time to think before his head came off because his face had this look like…" The Argonian screwed up his expression into one of utterly dumbfounded shock and the whole table burst out laughing.

But it was all companionship. All family.

"Would it kill you to pick up your dirties?" Ocheeva questioned.

Teinaava grinned smugly at her, "Maybe. Why are you complaining? You get your own room, sister mine."

Telaendril grimaced, "But the rest of us have to live in the same room as you. And not even Schemer is willing to nest under your bed. Whenever you do clean it out, we're going to find things growing under there."

This was so easy. This was all so easy. Easier than the Fighters Guild. Easier than anywhere else. Sharah wasn't just welcomed among them. She actually felt welcome.

"So, Sharah, who was your first murder?"

Sharah looked up, having taken too bit a bite of the chicken. "Mm?"

Gogron finished his draught and slammed his mug down, "Time to share. Who'd you kill?"

Sharah chewed hastily and swallowed, "Well…um…I'm not really sure who I'd call my first murder."

"Then just tell us one of yours," Teinaava prompted.

"Yeah," Gogron put in. "Make it nice and gory, too."

Sharah took a minute to think. Normally she had to choose her stories carefully in order not to tell the harsher ones. But, the stories she hid ordinarily were exactly the ones these people wanted to hear. How strange. Almost as strange as now closely assassins could resemble eager children. So Sharah chose one she'd never actually told out loud.

"Well…There was this settlement south of Chorrol called Hackdirt. The first time I found it was on a rescue mission for this kidnapped Argonian girl. No killing there then. But it's my second visit you probably want to hear about…"

Sharah had never told anyone about her second trip to Hackdirt. Bu it felt nice to get the secret off her chest. And this was the place to do it. The assassins appreciated the effort and the scope of her work.

"A whole settlement?!" Antoinetta gaped. "I am so jealous."

But the best part was when Sharah finished her tale.

Gogron laughed, "You think that's good? I gotta tell you about this one time in the Summerset Isles."

Ocheeva sighed, "This one again?"

"What? She hasn't heard it. And it's my pride and joy. So, anyway, I had this contract to kill this Altmer noble and…"

That was it. Her big murderous secret, never spoken of in decent company, now heard, appreciated, and moved past as naturally as could be. It wasn't a big deal to them that she'd killed all those people. Not that her act of mass murder had been unimportant, but it was one of many stories that was being told and would be told in the future. And Sharah herself was just one of the crowd. All of her. She didn't have to worry about hiding her darker side or her vicious streak. She could be herself in its entirely and still belong. In fact, that was what made her belong.

By the time the meal was finished, Sharah felt completely at ease round her new family. And by the time she found her bed, she was wondering how she'd ever been afraid of this place. This place was a Sanctuary. These people were family. And Sharah was home.

**At last, Sharah is in the Brotherhood. Finally! Leave a review before you go, and I'll get going on the next chapter.**


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